


4 Weddings and a Funeral: A Johnlock rom-com AU

by MorganeUK



Series: Rom-com adaptations... [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU Four weddings and a funeral, BAMF Sherlock, But they are idiots, Dream Sex, Evil Mary Morstan, F/M, Gen, Going to be series compliant as possible, Greg Lestrade & Sherlock Holmes Friendship, Happy Ending, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Knight in Shining Armour, M/M, Matchmaker Mike Stamford, Mike Stamford's wedding, Molly is not blind, Mycroft Feels, One Night Stands, Pining Greg Lestrade, Pining Mycroft, Season 4 do not exist, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Smut, Weddings, except for season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-06-21 19:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15564918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK
Summary: What happens when you have found a Mr Right who doesn't do commitment? Hope to meet him again and again until he changes his mind, of course! A John & Sherlock AU (loosely) based on the famous British comedy: 4 Weddings and a Funeral.** Each story in that series is independent and not-related at all **





	1. 1st wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to notjustmom for beta-ing :-)

Sherlock was sound asleep on the sofa, a pile of (horribly creepy) photos scattered around him, when he wakes up as someone was shaking his shoulder frenetically. "What? I’m sleeping!" Turning to the side without acknowledging the presence of someone in the room, he promptly tries to fall back asleep.  _For once, I am sleeping… Everybody should be happy and leave me alone!_

“No, no, no, SHERLOCK! You can’t go back to sleep! We are late!” The shrill but curiously strong voice of Bart’s pathologist finally finds a way into the maze of his mind.

“… Molly?”

“Yes! We are going to be late for Mike’s wedding! Come on, move, do something!” With pink cheeks – because of exhaustion of course, not because she was helping (fondling) her not-so-secret crush to get up – she pushes him into his bedroom before closing the door. “GET DRESSED!! NO TIME FOR A SHOWER!” As Sherlock protested about something that sounds like ‘tea’ she screams back, “we’ll stop on the way!” She was putting her hair and her little hat back to their rightful places when he finally leaves the bedroom. “In the bathroom, now! Do what you need to do! You’ve got 5 minutes…”

Mumbling “I need to shave, it’s going to be longer…” the tall man enters the bathroom before closing the door a little bit harder than needed.  _Why did I say yes to this! It’s madness!_  But he knew that he couldn’t say no to Molly, not when she looked like a beaten little kitten.  _And after all the times she stayed late at work, helping me with cases, giving me body parts... I owe her that. But, urggggg, a country wedding?_

8 minutes later, after a close shave and curls in place, Sherlock and Molly were finally on their way.

They were heading for the M-what-ever-interstate when the detective suddenly realizes they never stopped for tea! “Molly! I need tea or a coffee! You can’t expect me to be my  _joyful_  self without any stimulant!”

Chuckling at the use of the word ‘joyful’, the young woman protests, “we don’t have time… And I know that you can behave when it's required!” She manages to cut ahead of a few cars before going back in the right lane. “By the way… thank you so much again! It’s nice of you to be my plus one for this… I know that you generally avoid this kind of social thing.”

“I don’t mind… Not really. Mike is bearable, he insisted a lot!, and I understand that it’s not pleasant to go to this kind of thing alone…” He grins, looking at the cute woman next to him.  _She does look pretty with her hair like that and that fierce and determined attitude_  “I can’t understand how a nice young lady like you wasn’t able to find someone else.” He knew that she had a crush on him, _God, everyone at Bart’s knows it_ , but he had told her really quickly that he wasn’t into relationships and anyway, he was gay. But her forlorn eyes were still following Sherlock whenever he was in her lab. She has tried, but she hasn't been able to shake him out of her system. “You could have asked Graham.”

“I didn’t find anyone in time… And I want someone that I know, not just a wedding date with a stranger that I’ve met online! We are not in a rom-com!” She snorts, shaking her head, thinking about the losers she went out with last year. “You wouldn't understand, but the dating world is a jungle!” After a pause, she asks, with a bit of a confused smile, “Graham?”

“Scotland Yard. Lestrade?”

“Sherlock, write it down somewhere, would you? It’s Greg! And no, Mike set up Greg with one of his fiancée’s friends. So, it was you or the serial-killer I would probably end up with if I’d kept looking online.”

“Are you sure that a high-functioning-sociopath is better?” He grins, knowing perfectly well that the pathologist doesn’t buy the self-diagnosis from a few years ago, and sighs. “I for one am glad that I don’t care about all this, you should be more like me. Sentiment… it always ends in tears.”

Laughing, Molly finally gets leaves the highway for the B2042 as the little village was now only five kilometres away. “Don’t say that! We are going to a wedding!”

“You’ll see… tears and more tears.”

"And you should find yourself a nice man, at least to get some human contact." She looks at him quickly with a knowing glare, "do it as research if you must!"

"Tears, Molly."

"I can't believe I am saying that... but not everyone is looking forever after and commitment you know." She turns a nice shade of red and she had "Sometimes, just being in someone's arms for a while is nice."  

"Unwanted complications, everybody is looking for something even if they don't know it."  _And I will certainly not pay for a male escort!_ "Nothing but tears and a broken heart."

They remained silent for the rest of the road, each lost in their own thoughts.

A few hours later, Sherlock was reading on his phone when Greg falls into the chair beside him. “What a good party! Mike’s friend is super-hot! And funny! I think I’m going to ask her out for real…” Seeing that his friend wasn’t paying attention, he snatches his phone away quickly. “I was talking to you!”

Taking back his phone, the detective mutters. “I heard everything. She’s wonderful, the mother of your future children, blah, blah…”  _She’s a serial adulterer, but I don’t think he wants to know this right now!_

“Come on Sherlock, you can't be that  _blasé_! It’s a wonderful wedding, the ceremony was really romantic and all.” His eyes swept the room and like what they’re seeing. “God! You can't be so thick, we are in a bloody castle!”

“As this is the family home of the Boleyn, I think you’re right to say it’s a bloody castle.” Sherlock deadpanned.

“Sherlock Holmes! Is this a joke, are you drunk?” He sniffs the detective glass of water. “It’s not vodka... And anyway, I thought all the history stuff wasn’t up your alley...”

“Murders, trials, false testimony...”  _Anne Boleyn’s story wasn’t as dull as most of history._

“Okay, okay... you’re right.” Greg chuckles, looking at the party goers dancing on the medieval floor at the sound of 80s pop music. “God, she’s pretty.” He turns quickly to look at his friend. “Don’t say a word!”

“But, I...”

“Not another word! I’m going back, you don’t want to dance? Find yourself..." Greg stops his thought as he knew that Sherlock was gay only because Molly cried in his arms a year ago when Sherlock finally told her he wasn't interested. "... someone, Mike told me that he's got a friend that he wants you to meet.”

“No! Stop this right now. I’ll slow dance with Molly later if she’s alone but otherwise, I’m not in the mood.” He looks for her, and she was dancing with a not-serial-killer looking man. Spotting him checking her, she waves happily.  _And I think my job here is done! Great! Perfect!_  With a smile, he rises from the delicate chair to go back to his room.  _Thank God we’ve got two rooms!_ He wasn’t cruel enough to get a double room for Molly and him, not with the constant pinning.

Greg, realizing that his friend was leaving, frowns. “You’re leaving? Who the Hell quits a wedding so early...”

“It’s not that early and you know it! Please keep an eye on Molly, would you? She does not look drunk, but who knows. Even if the man she’s with looks like a good bloke.” A little commotion near the newly wedded couple made him smirk.  _And now I do not have to make polite chitchat with Mike and his newly acquired wife._ _This is definitely perfect._

“It is more than fashionably late, who’s that man?” Greg was grimacing at his lack of etiquette! "Mike is really happy to see him...” he chuckles, surveying the room as he sips his drink “as are all the ladies.”

Standing near the table while Sherlock quickly sends a text to Molly while catching a sight of the man at the corner of his eye.  _A traditional man, a bit short... Nothing special._ “I’m leaving, and as Mike is clearly occupied I will...”

But Greg didn’t give him a chance to finish. “No way are you getting out of this hall without congratulating the happy couple!” He jumps out of his chair and took the tall man by the shoulder. “Come on, be brave. And I’ll go back to Kristin at the same time.”

With a groan, Sherlock follows his lead until Greg nudges him toward Mike. Not waiting for the “late man” to go away, he simply grumbles “Lovely wedding. Mike. Sophie. Happy life. Got to go.” before turning and walking to the door.

With a laugh, Mike makes excuses for him to the man next to him “Apologies. He’s a bit of a loner and doesn’t like social situations. In fact, I was amazed that Molly was able to get him here!” Hugging his university friend one last time, he murmurs, “go find a lady and think about me, the poor married man!” He knew his wife was near and he got the reaction he was expecting as he receives a light smack on the arm.

“Oh, Mike!” She was laughing “could you please wait a year before crying about the missed opportunities? It took so long for you to realise I was flirting, I don’t think I have any reason to worry!” She smiles benevolently at her husband’s friend. He was stunning in a nice suit and her cousins and friends were already looking in their direction, wondering who he was. “John, go on, dance and everything! Last day before deployment, don’t think about us and have fun!”

“Yes, go away and get drunk! And thanks again, I’m so happy that you’ve been able to make it with that crazy schedule of yours! And... it's lucky for me that you haven't received your military parade uniform already because Sophie would have eloped with you.” Shaking his head, the military man kisses Sophie’s cheek one more time before leaving the couple to their other friends, not seeing the disappointed look the couple exchange as John and Sherlock walk in opposite directions.

Two hours later, Doctor John H. Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers was hiding.  _Hiding from a woman... when I’m on my way for Afghanistan! Bloody ridiculous!_ The evening had started so well! The single women were mostly cute and flirty. He danced with many, keeping an interested eye on one or two... while searching for the beautiful man who had talked to Mike without being able to find him. So, everything was going nicely until SHE arrived. _I don’t understand why Mike didn’t tell me that she was going to be there later!_ Fiona, one of their classmates from second year, had been trying to get John for years! It was horribly unsubtle.  _God, everything was going so nicely!_ As the mad woman starts to look his way, the soldier promptly runs to a service door. Smiling shyly, he thanks the kitchen’s staff for the excellent meal (that he actually missed as he was so late) and finally gets out of the castle by a small door.  _That’s all, I’m going back to the pub! I won’t be able to enjoy myself anyway!_

Walking back to the King Henry VIII pub where he was staying, John was smiling at the idea of his fellow officers learning how he ran from a single woman!  _And without a gun! Anyway, it’s better, I must leave early tomorrow... It wasn’t the time for being completely drunk or starting something new. _The idea of having a man or a woman in his life was a sweet one... but leaving that special someone behind right before his tour in Afghanistan didn't seem right.  _Better to remain a bachelor for a little while longer... And who knows, maybe fate will throw me a curveball and I’ll get lucky at the pub!_ The pub, right outside the castle gate, was warmly lit and cosy. There were a few locals, as well as a dozen of the wedding guests, were already relaxing and drinking in the main room. Quickly finding his place a little gang near a pool table, John finally relaxes for the first time since he spotted Fiona.

He was clearing the pool table efficiently when a tall man with a mop of curls walks into the room. John was happy, curious and nearly hypnotized by  _his_  mystery man standing there, cue stick in hand when he heard something that shakes him from his sexy reverie. “Don’t understand why they invited that freak...” One of Mike’s colleague says. “He’s so strange... What a stupid idea to invite him to a wedding.”

“Don’t you know? He’s Molly Hooper's plus one, he’s her date.” Another man replies theatrically pulling his tongue out in disgust, “not her date-date of course! The poor girl is in love with the bastard for years but he’s not the dating type.”

His girlfriend, looking at the back of the pub where the man disappeared, murmurs to another woman “He’s bloody gorgeous, creepy or not.” They were both still chuckling as John finally blinks out of his trance to play his turn.  _Get a grip, Watson! Okay, it’s the sexiest man you’ve seen in a while – let be honest, in all your life, but it’s no reason to act like an idiot. You don’t know if he’s gay or bi, you don’t know his name, you said not an hour ago that it’s wasn’t the time to be cavorting!_ He was ready to pocket the 7 when the voice he was avoiding resonated in the pub.

“Johnnnnnnn? Is John Watson here? Doctooooor John Watson?”

The men around the pool table didn’t have the time to say,  _Hey mate, isn’t you?_  that John was already carefully retreating away by a side door.  _Again! I can’t believe it..._ Walking around the old building wall, he ends up in the back garden. The temperature was a bit cold for the season and most of the few persons outside were only there for smoking. Looking for a place where he could relax while waiting for the woman to go away, he spots the mysterious man in a shaded spot near the shrubbery.  _Oh... OH... It’s him. I shouldn’t watch him like that. It’s not polite._  The man scowls with questioning eyes as John keeps his gaze on him.  _Shit. He saw me._ As Fiona's voice suddenly echoes in the walled garden, John runs to hide in a recess near the beautiful taciturn man, placing a finger on his lip to implore him to remain silent! With a little smirk, the git continues to smoke, looking bored until Fiona stops in front of him.

“Sir, sorry, do you know John Watson?” She was over-dressed for a country wedding, her fuschia hat cleary out of place in the little pub.

Without looking at her, John's saviour utters a clear “Nope.”

“Are you sure? He’s a small blond man, mid-thirties.” Fiona insists while turning on herself to look around the garden.

John, gratefully hidden to the woman eyes but able to watch the debonair man and satisfied that his secret was in good hands fumes when the man asked with a small mocking smile, “A  _small_  blond man?”

“Yes!” she replies, her tone full of hope. “You know him?”

“No.” The man repeats without giving any more information and taking out another cigarette from his pack.

“This is so sad... I can’t find him anywhere! You know, we were nearly an item at university and I’ve got the feeling that tonight is my chance!” 

As John was furiously shaking his head, mimicking the gesture of shooting into his head while silently saying ‘No fucking way, she’s delusional’, Sherlock finally offers her an apologetic smile. “Too bad, maybe he’s still at the party.”

Her artificially profound sigh was ridiculous. “No... I’ve looked everywhere and his room is here.” She was making doe eyes at Sherlock, clearly stating that if she didn't find John, she was available. As the detective didn't react to her attempts at flirting, she looks around again and smiles triumphantly. “He’ll have to turn up at the pub eventually." Turning on her heel, she walks inside quickly.

 

Leaving his hiding place, he offers Sherlock his hand. “Thanks, mate, I owe you! I don’t know how to make her understand that it’s never going to happen!”

Shaking John's hand, Sherlock mutters, “no problem.”

“And officially, I’m John Watson, a friend of Mike.”

After a hesitation, considering all of the pitfalls of starting something that will only last one night, he gives in to his curiosity, and offers John a pseudonym to make it more safe, “Scott, William Scott.”

With a laugh, John sits beside the man on the top of the picnic table. “You make it sound like 007!”

“Who?”

“007” pause “Bond” pause “James Bond” pause “Bond, James Bond” pause “Are you kidding me?”  _Is this man for real?_

Frowning in frustration, Sherlock looks at the man by his side before replying, “I have no idea whatsoever as to what you are talking about.”

Flabbergasted, the doctor specified “The movie, the novel! Ian Fleming!”

“Fleming? The WWII spy that went to Eton?”

“YES! Thank God!”

“I don’t think God has anything to do with it...”

"This is only an expression... Are you always so literal?” John was looking at the man in awe. 

Still frowning, Sherlock protests “I don’t like unclear statements.”

“I can see that... So, you are here with Mike’s colleague? Molly, isn’t that right?”  _Is it true that they are here only as friends?_

“Yes.”  _Is he interested in Molly? He's good boyfriend material I think..._

John asks curiously, wanting to know more about the man “Where is she?”

“Dancing with a nice bloke who is more her type I hope...”  _I should research any suitors thoroughly, she really has a bad taste in men!_ "But if you want to meet her, I can..."

Not listening, John asks quickly, “so... you’re not... with her?”  _Say yes! Say yes!_

“No, girlfriends are not my area.”

“Good, good... I mean. So... A boyfriend then?”

"Molly? No, I thought I was clear... It's just a man she met at the wedding and..." The poor man was clearly clueless about John's flirting.

"No. You. Do you have a boyfriend?" He pauses, looking at Sherlock with an open smile. "Which is good, you know."  _Really good._

“Oh... No. Not my area either I think.”  _That strange, usually people don't ask. Of course, I don't have a boyfriend! Who would want me!_  Sherlock was clearly uneasy now that his cigarette was finished.

_Good..._  But the lack of details in the responses of the beautiful man was hurting the doctor a little.  _Am I that uninteresting? Versus that Greek god maybe but... Better to go to bed._  “Think I’m going to go to bed now.” He jumps down from the table before smiling one last time to the perfectly tailored man. “Thanks again, you saved my life!”

With a melancholic smile, Sherlock simply replies “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, William...”

Going to his car to get his bag first, he then walks into the pub to get his key. A little sad at the feeling of a lost opportunity, and a little worried about Fiona. But she wasn’t in sight!  A few minutes later, he was sitting back near Sherlock, his bag at his feet. Remaining silent and a little stunned. _Shit. Shit. Shit._

“She’s in your room?” Sherlock deduces. “Found a way to get the key from the landlord?”

_That's brilliant!_ “Yes... Lucky that he told me that my  _wife_  was waiting for me inside our room.” He chuckles, “This is ridiculous! And now I have to wait for the alcohol to wear off before leaving this place with my car.”

“The pub is full?” Sherlock asks, knowing perfectly well that with a wedding at Hever Castle, the pub was obviously full.

_What a night, I should have called Mike and gone out with the other officers instead of coming here..._ “Yep. And to think it’s my last day before I’m leaving the country.”

Everything rushed in the detective's brain.  _Doctor, abroad, altruism, Doctor without borders? No... the way he holds himself, military training. But hasn't seen combat yet... Comfortable with his sexuality. He danced and flirted with women... But he flirted with me. Is it flirting? Bi. Anyway, if he says no, I will never see him again anyway. No consequences, just one night. Perfect. That will do nicely._ Without thinking further, he asks bluntly “I’ve got a double bed if you want to share...”

“What?” John stutters, unsure of what he heard. “Just like that, we don’t know each other and you want to share a room. a bed?” He waits as Sherlock eyes flutters, a light blush on his high cheeks.  _God, he's sexy._  “And for...”

“For whatever you want.” 

 

 

As the door of Sherlock’s room closes, a wave of uncertainty suddenly falls on the detective.  _Am I really doing this? This is silly... I’ve been okay without sex since my teens, why should I bother..._  But John's warm smile wins him over instantly as the doctor softly places a hand on his waist, looking into the eyes of the taller man with desire and anticipation. “Sshhhh, don’t worry. Is it your first time with a man?”

Happily able to reply without really lying, Sherlock murmurs “Yes... Sorry, I, I don’t know what to do.”

“Just follow my lead and do anything you want to do. If there’s anything that you are not comfortable with, let me know and I’ll stop. This is the most important... Don’t hesitate to talk to me.” Sprinkling little kisses all over Sherlock’s face as he talks, John was more and more enthralled by the man in his arms. His beauty, his cute shyness, his dark sense of humour and his intelligence that shine through the banal words they exchanged... He longs to know more and more about him.  _Stay calm Watson, it’s only for a night..._  Sherlock was melting under the doctor’s lovely attention, his back pushed upon the closed door.  _We are still dressed and have been kissing for only a few minutes and I am already lost..._  The little noises that the taller man were emitting were stirring John’s primal instincts.  _Mine! Mine!_   _How could it be already that’s incredible!_ His eyes closed as he tries to get a grip on his emotions.  _No need to escalate this too quickly. First time with a man, slowly, John, slowly._

A virgin but not totally without experience, Sherlock realizes quickly that John even if he was an experienced lover, was surprisingly out of his depth.  _Is it because of me? Really? Dilated iris, strong and rapid heartbeat, ragged breathing... For me!_ Taking advantage of the situation he pushes John away to be able to strip him from his coat and vest, doing the same with his suit. Now both only in shirt and trousers, they stop, eyes meeting eyes not wanting to miss a second of what’s going on. Suddenly placing his hand behind Sherlock's neck, John pulls him close for a deep kiss. Open mouthed, his tongue licking everything he can access... Coercing Sherlock to do the same, to follow him. Happy to do so, the detective quickly uses his height to tries to take control of the kiss, but John didn’t allow it. On the contrary, using his smaller size too furiously go down on Sherlock’s beautiful neck and jaw, he once more left his lover breathless.    

Feeling a heaviness as his arousal was rising in the confines of his trousers and pants, the brunet shoves the doctor on the bed before attacking the buttons of his shirt. “Too many layers... I want to see you.” Chuckling amorously, John uses his hands to help him before working on the other man's tight shirt.

“How is it possible for you to wear this, it is nearly impossible to get out of it!” He grumbles, trying to get the small button out of the button-hole. “And I am a bloody surgeon...”

“Good to know I was right,” Sherlock smiles as he attacks the blond man’s belt.  _Doctor, surgeon... Good, that's good_. _Can be useful. No! Not useful! One night. Only one night!_ While John finishes the removal of his trousers, he quickly removes his shirt before getting out of his own trousers. Finally, when they were both in pants, Sherlock freezes, not knowing what to do.  _What am I doing... I can’t... I can’t do this. It’s useless._  John, not liking the look of panic in the man’s eyes, strokes his arm slowly.

“Hey... don’t worry William. We won’t do anything that you don’t want, remember?... Could we kiss? Kissing was good, right?” Swallowing painfully, Sherlock nods. Shifting up to be at the same level, the doctor starts peppering little kisses around the perfect lips of his partner. “You have the most luscious and sexy lips I have ever kissed, you know.” Lightly biting Sherlock's bottom lip until he was slightly moaning. “That’s good... really good... tell me what you want...” Unable to stop themselves, they were now grinning at each other. The friction nearly unbearable, too good but not enough at the same time. Guiding his lover ( _What a nice gift because he was avoiding Fiona!_ ) on the bed, he reverses the situation by placing Sherlock's long body onto the bed while he was remaining on his knees, right beside him. Hovering softly over the long torso, he pauses his hand with one finger under the sexy black silk pants the posh man was wearing. “May I...”

Already on the edge because of the new sensual sensation caused by the kisses, he was only able to groan “John... Oh... Yes... Whatever you want. More, I need more!”

With a devious smile, John slowly pulls them down, content to realize that the man was as eager as he was for more. _Condom, shit, condom... How could I forget! I'm a bloody doctor!_  His hand was already on Sherlock’s cock, stroking lightly, but it was hard to wait before putting his mouth on it!  _It’s utter perfection! God, everything is pretty on this man, it’s totally unfair._  “Darling man, we need a condom.”

“I am clean... Blood test... Monthly... For work...” Trying to get to the bedside table with one of his long fingers, he pulls open the drawer until he found a little bag with lube and condom inside.  _Thank God for a thoughtful innkeeper!_ “Got it!”

“Better be safe than sorry...” Acting quickly, he was finally able to go on with what was becoming one of the hottest nights of his life.

Unusual birds singing near the window were the first thing Sherlock notices when he realizes he wasn't at home.  _They are not London pigeons. Oh right, Mike’s wedding. Country. Hever..._ He was also hearing another unusual noise, like a constant tattoo.  _It’s not my heart... what is... Oh..._ Realizing that the beat was coming from a heart that was inside the chest of a blond naked man, a breathing man.  _Of course, he’s breathing, you idiot!_  He raises his head slowly to contemplate him.  _John. It’s John._ Images of last night sprang to his mind, how the doctor had been caring, soft, tender. They didn’t do everything, but it was perfect nevertheless. _Am I still a virgin even if we did not have penetrative sex?_  Sherlock asks himself before deciding it wasn’t important.  _The line is blurry._ Satisfied that this was now ‘over’, he didn’t overthink about the feeling of sadness that was creeping over him at the idea of leaving the room.  _But I have to!_   _Anyway, that was the deal, isn’t? One night, that’s all. And I don’t want nor need more than that!_

Carefully detangling himself from the cuddling doctor, he quickly tosses everything in his overnight bag, putting on the clothes he laid out previously, just before he went for a cigarette in the garden.  _Oh God, this is only a few hours away... How is it possible!_ With a last look at the beautiful man who made him rethink his view upon sentiment and intimacy, he turned on his heel to get away as silently as possible. 

But as his hand touches the door handle, a voice he didn't think he'd hear again asks sleepily, "William? What time is it... Where are you going?"

Not looking at the wonderful man in the bed, Sherlock enunciates as clearly as he was able to do so "It's 6:15."

"Oh... I have a good hour left then..." John replies as he stretches his arms before placing them behind his head cockily. The sexy grin adorning his lovely face as not so subtle clue on how he was hoping to spend the time...

Panicking, the detective utters quickly. "Text, emergency, got to go..." 

"For real? I was expecting another round, then brunch, then exchanging phone numbers and Skype accounts... Don't tell me it wasn't serious for you?" The fake indignation was good enough for Sherlock's blood to drain from his face. 

"But... it was only one night. You are leaving... I... I don't..." The detective was clearly panicking before he realizes the mirth in John's eyes. "You are joking."

"Of course... I was joking. The night has been fantastic, but this is not what we are looking for." He hesitates before adding an interrogative "It isn't is it?"

"No, it isn't." Sherlock tone wasn't as definitive as he wishes it to be.  _What's wrong with me!_ "Bye John, wish you the best while you are away. Be safe." He blurted something about the room is available until 11 AM and rushes outside as if the devil was running after him.

Alone in the bed where he was still surrounded by the odour of their lovemaking as well as Sherlock's personal scent, John wasn't able to stop thinking that it was somewhat sad... Not realizing that he had fallen in love somewhere between a discussion in a pub garden, a first kiss and the cuddling in the middle of the night.

_ Yes, I think we both just missed a great opportunity here. _

 

 


	2. Second Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is marrying his lovely Kristin... Sherlock is going to say yes to something that is going to change his life.

"Sherlock..." Molly was standing on the other side of the lab, ready to leave for home. "Sherlock!"

Without quitting his microscope, the detective simply hums, his eyes still focused on the slide.

“Don’t forget, it’s Greg’s wedding tomorrow.” She frowns as her friend remains silent.  _How could I’ve been so blind, it’s hard enough to be friends with him, imagine having the git as a boyfriend... or living with him on a daily basis!_  “SHERLOCK! TOMORROW, GREG’S WEDDING!”

“Yes, yes, I’m going to be ready on time.” The man murmurs clearly without paying attention. But remembering Mike's wedding when Molly was fussy about the colour of his tie and pocket handkerchief he asks with a smile “Any colour that I should avoid?”

With a sigh, Molly shakes her head. “Sherlock... remember what I told you a few weeks ago. I’m going with my new boyfriend.” After a pause, she adds blushing slightly. “Have you... did you... RSVP?”

“RSVP to what?”  _It is really a poison in the saliva... Ohhhh that’s good!_

“Sherlock! I can’t believe it! It’s called an RSVP for a reason!” Quickly getting her phone out she texts Greg.

> Sherlock hasn’t RSVPed? MH
> 
> lol no, of course, not. It’s Sherlock GL
> 
> Don’t worry, I added him to the count. If he honours us with his presence I’ve got a place for him. GL
> 
> Ok, I just want to be sure, because you know my plus one isn’t Sherlock this time. MH
> 
> All set don’t worry! You’re picking him up tomorrow, right? GL
> 
> Yes, don’t worry. I will handle him. Mycroft is going to bring him back probably. MH

With a last look at her preoccupied friend, still looking intently into the microscope with a happy but predatory smile, she shrugs her shoulders before reminding him. “I will be there at 1 PM, be ready this time!”

 

Multiple phone calls and texts from Molly, starting as soon as 10 AM, ensure that Sherlock was ready on time even if he barely slept the night before. He was still enthralled by his experiment but was (almost) gladly putting it aside for Lestrade. Even if... He still doesn’t know why the least idiotic member of the Met was marrying a serial adulterer.  _Maybe I could talk to him..._ But the few times he tried to say a word about his fiancée, Lestrade clearly stated that he would not accept any ‘deduction, psychic or parlour trick’ against his charming Kristin. The fact that they had known each other for barely two years wasn’t enough to tame the feelings of the amorous policeman, feeling lucky because he had finally found the perfect woman!

Thinking about the silliness of it all and how it’s going to end in tears and a split mortgage, Sherlock let his mind wander towards the last wedding he had attended.  _Hever Castle... Mike is going to be there tonight, Lestrade is marrying a friend of his wife after all._ Without his consent, his brain was asking the most important question of the day...  _Is he going to be there?_  Knowing perfectly that the odds were mostly null, a small flicker of hope and fear was hidden under his composed manner.  _Anyway, it was a one-time affair and it served its purpose... If someone asks me about relationships or whatever, I’m going to be able to reply, ‘been there, done that’ and that it’s not my area. Without lying._ Looking in the mirror as he arranges his hair in a casual but neat manner, his own reflection becomes surrounded by dozens of  _liars,_  floating all around him.  _Liar, liar, liar, liar..._ Flicking his hand, he pushes the thought away.  _I am not a liar, the fact that I... that I appreciated the night with that man (John, John, John...) is only the confirmation that it can only be worse with another one. I was lucky, that’s all._

The excuse was lame even for Sherlock, who quickly puts on the rest of his suit and goes down to wait for Molly.

 

 

Now in the car, sitting behind Molly so he is better able deduce the woman’s date while they drive to the church, Sherlock was unable to stop fidgeting with his phone, his keys, his tie –  _God I hate ties with a passion!_  – the portable coffee mug from Speedy's. His eyes wandering on the man who was badly driving the compact car.  _And because of him, I am in the back seat!_ In fact, he said to the pathologist to go in the back seat to ‘let the man in front’ but Sherlock refused, stunned by the lack of gallantry.  _Even I know better!_   _An ordinary man, too ordinary for Molly, found her job horrible, driving Molly’s car as if she wasn’t able to, too traditional, not at all what she needs..._ Trying to stay silent was hard and he continues fidgeting, playing the violin on his armrest.  _I don’t like him, I don’t like him, why does everyone around me have such a bad taste in partners!_

He was now grumbling in a an obvious manner until Molly explodes. Looking at her friend with in her mirror, she chides him severely. “Sherlock! Stop fidgeting! And do not try to deduce Brendon!”

Laughing, her wedding date smiles benevolently, like he was talking to a child. “Don’t worry. darling, your friend does not scare me.” Turning quickly, he winks at Sherlock. “You’re the great Sherlock Holmes after all! I’ve read about you in the paper... and of course Molly can’t stop talking about you. Sherlock this, Sherlock that... As if her job wasn’t already creepy, you add a hefty dose of creepiness with your experiments.” He chuckles, placing a heavy hand on Molly’s knees.

The pathologist, clearly exasperated by the man's comments about her job, bluntly said. “Remove your hand, please.” Laughing, as if it was a joke, Brendon left his hand on her knee with an indulgent smile.  “I. Said. Remove. Your. Hand.”

“Don’t be silly Molly... I already agreed to bring your weird friend with us... Don’t push me.” The sharpness to his voice was clear now, putting Sherlock on edge. “If I present you to my mum, I hope you’re going to behave better! No girlfriend of mine...” But he was interrupted by Sherlock. Leaning forward between the seats, the exasperated detective took the wheel and turns it to bring the car to the side of the road. “WHAT THE HELL,YOU FREAK!”

Jumping out of the car, Sherlock pulls the poor example of a man out of his seat, took his place and starts the car. Leaving a stunned bastard alone in the middle of the A10.  The whole operation took less than a minute.  “Don’t worry Molly, the next village is only a few miles away.”

“I’m not worrying, what a arse!” Looking in the mirror, she sees that her date was screaming and raising his fist in the air. “He’s really angry...”

“Don’t worry about him, he won’t call you anymore.” He frowns, changing lanes quickly “unless, you want him to of course.”

“No, no... God... I don’t know why I dated that man. The first few times we went out, he was nice. In a traditional-woman's-place-is-in-the-kitchen-romantic kind of way.”  _I’m so stupid..._

“Don’t think about it, you’re not stupid...”

Indulging him with a small smile, she protests, “You know it kind of freaks me out when you do that.”

“Sorry... but it’s true. You are not stupid; the man was a jerk.”

More relaxed now that the jerk was out of the car, Molly chuckles “Thanks again, my knight in shining armour!”

Laughing, Sherlock rushes through the traffic easily until they reach the church.

 

 

In the church, Sherlock was looking at his phone, disgruntled by all the ceremony.  _I can’t understand how Lestrade can marry that woman! This will only end in tears..._

Murmuring, Molly tries to catch her friend attention. “Sherlock! Stop that, it’s a wedding, we are in church!”

“Come on Molly, don’t tell me that woman is good for Graham!” he was muttering but was clearly audible for the pews around them.

“Shut up! He’s a grown man!” She quickly grabs his phone. “Shhhh...”

 

 

Two hours later, they were seated at a round table with some of the Met's finest – Greg couldn’t let his officers away from the celebration – and Sherlock was bored. Knowing that the mix of elements was dangerous, Molly promptly swept Sherlock to the dance floor as soon as the meal was finished. They danced for hours, the pathologist enjoying her Brendon-free evening –  _God! What was I thinking!_  – and Sherlock indulging in his love of dancing which he rarely had occasion to do, was nearly happy.  After one last high paced cha-cha, where Molly and Sherlock wouldn’t stop laughing about how inept Molly was,  _Come on Molly! You’re a doctor, you can do that! It’s basic mathematics!_ they went back to their table for a drink.

A few minutes later, a blissfully happy Greg dropped into the chair between them. “Molly, the truth, where’s your date?”

“He’s not my date anymore... Let's just say that we weren’t compatible!”

“Oh no... It’s so sad. I don’t understand you are so sweet and nice and cute, you should have dozens of men after you!”   _Doesn’t help that she’s been enamoured with a gay man for years though..._

“Don’t worry about me, it’s your day! Is everything going as you want? Kristin is happy?” 

“Yes, I think so, weddings are insane, if you think about it. She’s been on edge for weeks...” He turns to look at his wife, who was talking with her friends on the other side of the room. “The honeymoon is going to put everything back to normal!” Sniggering, Sherlock swiftly picked up his whisky-sour to hide his smile. “Oi mate! You are alone, so you can’t say a word about others who are in a happilyeverafterrelationship!”

“It’s not a word, Gavin...” He pauses, happy to place his new catchphrase “Anyway, I’ve tried it and it wasn’t any good so I’m better without, thank you very much.”

“Who was it Sherlock?” Molly asks curiously “You’ve been saying that for nearly two years but I don’t know who it was.”

“I’ve been saying for ages that all that...” he made a large gesture, pointing to the hall and the people “is not for me.”

“Yes, but Molly is right...” Greg adds, his eyes on his friend “the way you are saying it has changed in the last years.” Placing an unsteady hand on the detective's shoulder, he smirks “Did you get lucky at Mike’s wedding, like me, you quiet bastard?”

“Oh, Sherlock! Who is it! Do you truly like him? Is he here tonight?” The pathologist was turning on herself to look around.  _What’s Sherlock’s type? I have no idea! I should know things like that, we are friends._

“Yes, and no. And no.” At his friends’ questioning gazes, he explains. “Yes, I met someone at Mike wedding. It was just one night, and no, he’s not here.” Finishing his drink, he pushes the glass away from him.  _Enough drinking for tonight!_

“Ohhhh that is so sad.” A slightly drunk Molly was on the verge of tears. “But do you like him? Maybe he’s looking for you? It's a man, right? What his name?”

“Come on Molly be sensible. Who in his right mind would be looking for me?”  _For god's sake,_ _this conversion is never going to end._ Sherlock was well aware of his flaws. He didn’t fool himself. He knows how unlikable he is...  _I am only part of this little gang because I’m useful_ … But he was blatantly unaware of his good qualities. Of how he impressed by his high moral code, his brilliant mind, his cat-like sexy attitude that transcended all his moves... “I’m trying to get a flatmate to get out of the dump where I’m living, and they all run after 5 minutes! Imagine getting someone to pledge his whole life to me when I can't get a random bloke to spend a year with me with the incentive of a low rent in a central London flat!”  _This whole conversation is ridiculous!_ He chuckles derisively "And that means a lot when you think of the fact that people have in fact  _killed_  for a flat in London, I've got examples." 

“Don’t sell yourself short, man, I know a few men and woman at the office who haven’t given up on you!” The number of times he’s been cornered by a besotted member of the Met! Asking him to put a word for them toward the dark but dreamy Byronic detective! “But, a flatmate could be good for you. if you find the right person. Keep searching. Being alone isn’t good for you, sometimes I worry, you know...”

Not liking the direction of the discussion, Sherlock rises, suddenly drained.“I’m tired, think I’m going to go back to London. Molly, you’re all right?”

“Yes, don’t worry. I’ve got a room in the hotel next door and I won’t bring any psychopath or not-born-in-the-right-century man with me!” She chuckles, clearly a little sloshed, but adds seriously “Thanks again for what you did for me earlier ...”

“Whenever it’s needed, I’ll be there don’t worry. I should really be in charge of your online dating, would save you time.” Patting Greg’s back with a sad smile, he adds before leaving, “felicitations, Lestrade, I wish you all the happiness possible...”  _But I seriously doubt it!_

 

He was just leaving the ballroom when a voice interrupts his steps. “Sherlock!” The detective turns on the spot as Mike was running after him, heaving a bit. “Sherlock, wait!”  _I should really lose a bit of weight!_  “You didn’t reply yesterday when we talked in the cafeteria. About my friend. Can I give him your number?”

His mind already elsewhere, he didn’t remember the conversation at all, he nods briefly before walking out of the venue to go to the parking lot where a black car was waiting for him to bring him back to his miserable flat.  _I should talk to Mycroft about this Brendon guy._

With a smile, Mike walks happily to his wife who was waiting for him at their table.  _It’s all settled._

 

A few days later, Sherlock was at Bart's when his phone buzzed. Not acknowledging it - he wasn't waiting for information from his network and Lestrade was out of the country on his sex holiday - he continues to look at Anderson's abysmal photos. "Can't believe how useless that man is..." He grumbles to himself, "actually, yes, I can believe it." 

"Sherlock, stop it." Molly laughs, "you have to be nice to him if you want to work on that case while Greg is away."

"Yes, maybe... but I don't understand why he still has a job! A 4-year old child would be able to take better pictures!" As his phone lightly buzzes again, he grabs it with a hint of impatience as the pathologist left in search of coffee.

> Hello? 
> 
> Is it M Holmes? 
> 
> Who are you? SH
> 
> Oh, it's you. SH. Great. Mike Stamford gave me your cell number
> 
> He told me you are looking for a flatmate?
> 
> Oh yes, Stamford. SH
> 
> Maybe. SH
> 
> Maybe?
> 
> Yes, got my eyes on a nice flat, central London. SH
> 
> So what's the problem? 
> 
> I don't like to waste my time. SH
> 
> You know. forget it. You clearly don't want a flatmate. 
> 
> You're right. I don't want a flatmate. SH
> 
> But I do need one. SH
> 
> It's just kind of useless you know. SH
> 
> Useless? I don't understand, are you looking for a flatmate or not?
> 
> Yes, keep up. I don't like to repeat myself. SH
> 
> Are you always such a git? 
> 
> Yes. SH
> 
> You see. You can't have me as flatmate. SH
> 
> I can deal with that, I've met worse.
> 
> I play violin when ever I want. Even at 3 in the morning SH
> 
> I've got nightmares and I scream sometimes in the middle of the night.
> 
> I do chemistry experiments on the kitchen table. SH
> 
> As long as some of the dishes stay out of harm's way I'm okay with it.
> 
> My schedule is off the chart. I go out or get in at the strangest hours. SH
> 
> Don't care. You do what you want with your life.
> 
> I can't abide being bored, it drives me crazy. SH
> 
> I'm pretty bored of being bored to death myself.
> 
> Sometimes I can stay silent for days. SH
> 
> Nice, it's going to give me a break from the gititude. 
> 
> I don't know what to say. SH
> 
> Except that gititude is not a word. SH
> 
> I really need to get out of my bedsit. Come on mate, give me a chance.
> 
> You won't give up, will you? SH
> 
> No. 
> 
> Why? SH
> 
> I trust Mike's judgment, he's a good down to earth guy. If he said that we can get along without killing each other, I believe him. 
> 
> Okay, right. We can visit the flat if you want. SH
> 
> But I'm allowing myself the right to a 'I told you so' when you run away. SH
> 
> LOL, we'll see. 
> 
> The address is 221b Baker Street. Be there tonight at 7PM. SH
> 
> Great Sherlock, can I call you Sherlock? M Holmes it's kind of... Don't know. Anyway good, see you at 7PM.
> 
> BTW, my name is John, Dr John Watson.

Sherlock was still blankly looking at his phone when Molly came back into the lab with two cups of coffee fifteen minutes later. "Sherlock, are you all right? Have you seen a ghost?" She laughs, looking wearily around her. "Are you sick?"

"No, no ghost..." He replies putting down the phone.  "Not sick either..."

_Worse._

_Emotions._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is in the hands of my beta :-) 2018/09/04


	3. A funeral...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there any way for this flat share to work?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, real life is such a bummer sometimes :-)

At six, Sherlock was already at Baker Street, trying to put everything in its place to calm his nerves.  As his lease on Montague Street was coming to an end, he decided to move in any way even if he doesn't find a flat mate. _But now I have one. Possibly. Or not. Better not. I could find an excuse, tell him that I found someone else, that I just came into possession of an inheritance or something, I can ask Mycroft for money... "_ Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Ms. Hudson, who was in the kitchen making tea, frowns at his uncustomary outburst."Language, young man!"

"Oh! You don't understand!" The detective replies quickly.  _The situation totally deserved a 'fuck' even if I usually don't swear._ He really likes the old lady but at times, her meddling in his affairs drove him crazy.  

"What is it? I understand a great deal you know, even if I'm old..." She laughs, shaking her head with a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. "The things I've seen..."

With a little smile, the young man forgets his anxiety for one moment to tease his 'not his housekeeper. "Let's see, as the 'bookkeeper of a drug cartel, or an exotic dancer..."

"Ohhhh... youtubing again!" She playfully slaps him on the arm while giving him his tea. "I have a good feeling about this one." She knew how hard it had been for her new tenant to find a flatmate.  _He has helped me so much I could give him the flat free of charge! But having someone around will do him some good!_

He mumbles as he jerks away before she ruffles his hair. "You don't know him, you... you can't possibly have an opinion!" 

"You are nervous... that means it's someone important." She chuckles merrily.

"Oh, do shut up, Ms. Hudson!" 

Sherlock was about to get another talk down when he was saved by the bell. Literally.  Laughing, the old lady goes down the stairs to open the door to John.  _This is going to be fun!_ Her first thought was that the man was beautiful in a subtle way. Except for the fact that he was walking with a stick, he appears to be, well, 'normal' compared to the people that usually around Sherlock.  _And his blond hair will contrast beautifully with Sherlock's dark curls if something does come from it!_   "Come in, young man, come in." She closes the door as soon as he passes her flat. "Sherlock is upstairs, waiting for you." She nods in the direction of the stairs. "Hope you don't mind the steps, with your leg and all... I'm the landlady by the way. Ms Hudson. Go, go!" With one last conspiratorial smile, she turned and entered her flat humming softly to herself.

 

 _Okay... The landlady is clearly of the mother hen type..._ Sighing, John walks up the stairs slowly, cursing his leg.  _The building is nice, very well located, I don't understand how the rent can be that cheap._ Once at the door, he knocks softly and calls out for his potential flatmate. "Sherlock? It's me, John, can I come in?" As the door was already slightly ajar, he enters calling the name again... right before his world shifts at the view of the man in front of him.  _Oh. My. God. It's him. It's William. But... But..._

At John's stunned expression Sherlock knew instantly that he clearly remembered him. Pushing down the stress he was feeling, he says, "Hello, Doctor Watson." Before adding a business-like "nice to meet you." 

Suddenly rightfully angry at the man he had been day-dreaming of every time he wanked for nearly two years now, John wasn't able to keep up a facade. "Don't you dare ' _nice to meet you'_  me, 'Sherlock'!", the air quotes around his name nearly visible in a word bubble over his head. "What the Hell? Is this a game?"

"No, no... not a game." The detective was taken aback by the doctor's attitude. "Seriously, what kind of game can be that dull... I am as  _unhappy_  as you are, I can assure you." 

A bit calmer, John frowns and asks, "You didn't know it was me?"

"Yes, when you said your name at the end of our exchange..." He raises his hand to stop John's outburst. "but not before. Stamford never told me your name." Wanting to occupy himself, he rushes to the kitchen for tea. "Do you really think that I would have accepted had I known?"

"Okay... So, all this is just an unfortunate turn of events." Still shaking a bit, he sits in the nearest chair, a comfortable plaid armchair. "Why didn't you cancel when you knew?"

"Don't know... Or maybe I thought it was ridiculous to let something as  _banal_  that happened a long time ago affect my - our - life today..." He waves his hand dismissively, fixing the tea after he asks John how he takes his. "...but I totally understand if you want to turn and run away."

With a small chuckle, John kicks his bad leg with his walking stick. "I'm not doing a lot of running nowadays..."

"Who knows, the fright of seeing me again could spontaneously cure your psychological limp!" Handing a slightly abused mug to John, he looks at the man trying to deduce what was new since... since that night. "If you want to talk to your therapist before moving with me..."

Taking the tea, John asks automatically, "how do you know about my therapist? And psychological limp?"

"You are clearly just back from Afghanistan with a wounded shoulder and a psychological limp, of course, you've got a therapist." Sherlock smiles, happy to be able to keep an upper hand on the discussion.

Amazed against his will, John murmurs, "that's soooo not good. You shouldn't do that to people, it's not nice. Even if it is just a tiny bit impressive."  _And utterly sexy._

"Never said I was 'nice'..." Frowning, Sherlock looks at the doctor with dispassionate eyes  "So... good day then. Have a nice life."

As the beautiful man turns on his heel, John protests. "What?? Is that it?" Stepping directly behind Sherlock, he places a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me! You are not pushing me away like that!" They were now only inches away.  _Oh dear... I want to kiss him. Right now. No, no, no, I CAN'T do that._ "We are both adults, we can get over this... We... We slept together one night two years ago. As you said, it shouldn't change anything. I am willing to try if you are."  _And it's not because I want to see if something can come of this. I need a flat! It is not because you spoiled me for any other man!_

"Are you sure?" The detective asks, unsure of himself, suddenly.

"Yes."  _Come what may. "_ I can control myself, don't worry, you're not  _that_  cute." 

Their fate was sealed as DI Lestrade barges into the room with a tale of serial suicides that evolved into a case involving a pink suitcase and an awful lot of running and by the end of the night, John killing a man to protect the mad detective from his own boredom.  _Nice job playing it cool, Watson._

 

To everyone's surprise, John and Sherlock, especially, to say the least,  it went spectacularly well. They quickly fall into a sort of routine. Cases, eating take-out, fighting over body parts in the fridge and the curious case of the vanishing milk... John was blogging like a madman, trying to keep up with their crazy life. 

Everything was fine. 

More than fine. 

Fine at it's finest. 

Mutual silent pining aside. 

Of course...

 

 

A year or so later, John wasn't so sure anymore that everything was going okay.  _We were all right!_ John sighs silently, looking at his beer.  _More than all right!_ His friend's reaction when he found him at the pool even gave him a bit of hope that Sherlock wanted something more.  _Yes, everything was going well! Until Irene bloody Adler. And the moaning ringtone, and the flirting, and her death, and Sherlock's infinite look of sadness that was so hard for me to watch. Heartbroken because of someone else... I am the only one that should be the cause of Sherlock's despair! Not that woman!_ He was ashamed but unable to stop his thoughts!  _God, I hate her! And the not-so-dead-lets-have-dinner, and the return of the flirting, and the finally dead-dead. Or is she?_ Being confronted by that woman about his sexuality and his attraction to Sherlock was horrible, especially when he realized that his exasperated scream  _I'm not gay!_  was heard by the man he dreamt about every night.  _Bloody hell. And of course, nothing happened when we shared a room at Baskerville!  And to think he pushes me to flirt with that woman, for the damn case... And that he drugged my coffee!_

"You're all right mate? Sorry, I'm late..." 

Lifting his head from his deep contemplation of his empty pint glass, John smiles at Greg. "Yes, yes, everything is okay."  _Greg is a good friend. It's not complicated. Why can't it be like that with Sherlock? Because you don't want to undress and snog Greg, you idiot!_ His mind replies.  _Shit, I am in so much trouble!_ Unable to restrain himself, he sighs theatrically at the tragicomedy his life had become.

Laughing, the DI pushes a fresh beer in front of John. "That bad? Talk to me... Did he set the kitchen table on fire again?"

A couple of hours later, and after far too many drinks, John was on his way home.  He finally opened up a bit about Sherlock to Greg (More precisely, he nearly cried in his arms. "You don't understand Greg...... I looooooooooooove him." (but neither man will ever admit having said it or heard it and they are too drunk to remember anyway.) One thing John can't forget, it's the DI's last words before he pushes him in a taxi. "Go get the man, mate!"

 

Arguing with the keyhole - John was loosing - the doctor keep repeating Greg's words like a mantra. _Go get the man, go get the man, go get the man... Bloody door, would you just open, I've got to get the man!!_ Until the door opens magically.  _Ohhhhh... It's Sherlock. He opens doors. For me. He's a magician. He's adorable._

"John, are you all right?" To the doctor, the concern in Sherlock's smooth voice was the most erotic thing ever.  _He cares for me, he's wonderful!_

"Yes, fine." He summoned what he thought was the sexiest smile ever. "You know... got to get the man."... and he promptly crashed on his friend's shoulder.

"Okay..." The detective rolled his eyes at his friend's nonsensical words and the fact that he was actually drooling on his shirt. "perfect... yes... you do that. Come inside would you?" He helped John up the stairs and was about to continue one more floor up to John's bedroom when the doctor pushed the door of their shared living room. "John... It's better if you go to bed, don't you think?"

"No... Got to pee first. And after, Sir, ” With a wink, he pushes his finger in his friend’s torso “we're going to bed."

Even if he knows that he won't be sleeping that night,  _I slept 6 hours yesterday_ , Sherlock didn't protest. "Good plan, bathroom then we  _both_  need to go to sleep..." He abandoned John in the bathroom and poured a tall glass of water with two Paracetamol while thinking about the soft look his friend has when he's drunk.  _His guard is down... He's not playing any game... As if the thought of what we have done years ago disappeared from his mind. How many times I saw him looking at me, his cheeks pink... Clearly ashamed of what he did!_ The fact that John didn’t go out with men was further proof for Sherlock. _It was something foolish, an experiment. I shouldn't be thinking about that. This is water over the sea or whatever the expression is._ Knocking lightly on the door he asks“Are you all right? Better wait for tomorrow for a shower... Don’t want you to fall asleep in the bath!” _He didn’t smell the pub too much, or cheap girly perfume for once!_ The satisfaction that his friend didn't flirt with any woman didn’t last, as another wave of shame rushes into his heart _. Come on! Where did that come from! Who cares if he flirts with thousands of women!_ _I should be over this right_ _? It's been ages_...he turned his attention to his friend.  _He should have been out of the bathroom two minutes ago.._. He gently knocks on the door again, turning the knob to realize that the bathroom was empty. "John? Where are you? Are you all right?"

A sultry voice came from his own bedroom. "Here..." 

"Hmmm... John. I think you've got the wrong bed. But, anyway, you're probably too tired to walk up the stairs... Take it, I'll sleep on the sofa if..." 

"No, come here..." John pats the bed with hooded eyes.

 _Oh... No. Don’t tempt me! It’s not fair!_ "John, you're drunk... I don't think you..."

"You know what they say, liquid courage!" He surprisingly quickly pulls Sherlock onto the bed. Or more specifically, on top of him. Holding him tight...

  

 _Oh God... yes... more..._ Sherlock was finally all over him once more, he was able to press his hands down his spine, toying with the elastic of his pants until he touches his plush arse.  _Mike's wedding, that little pub, It's been nearly three years but it seems like yesterday!_  But it wasn't what John wanted for now. Quivering with desire, he moans until he was able to finally talk to the divinity who was spread over him, hovering like an angel. “Take me... Please... I’m all yours...” The lips on his shoulder smile, chuckling softly, sending another wave of shivers that resonate directly to his sex. “It's not funny...” The doctor voice was harsh as he swallows hard. “You... you teased me long enough...”  _With your voice, your lips, your curly hair, your long legs... Your bloody hands! So elegant, so effortlessly sexy..._  “Sherlock... Now... Please...” The detective remains silent but starts showering him with little kisses, licking and gently biting his nipples. Unable to control himself but wondering how is it possible to already be naked, John jerks into his friend firm torso, rubbing his length on the thin but firm frame of Sherlock. A naked Sherlock. An  _already_  naked Sherlock. 

_Fuck! This is happening, for real._

John was quickly losing it, thrashing from one side and another, when a hand finally engulfs his cock. “Oh Gooood, yes!” But it wasn’t long before he realizes the hand wasn’t moving. Not moving at all! Understanding that the detective wants to go slow, he sighs, pressing a kiss into the mass of chocolate curl. “Brilliant man... You’re right... Go slow... Do as you wish... I want to come with you inside... I want us to become one...”  Sherlock caressed him lightly one last time before turning the shorter man on his stomach. “Oh Sherlock... more... yes... God... yes...” Pushing him slightly on the bed to restrain him to hump on the mattress, his friend's precious lips start kissing, biting and licking a path toward John’s perfectly round buttock.  _Oh fuck, he’s going to... Oh..._  But the doctor was unable to talk anymore as his friend's tongue starts licking and swirling around his hole. Nearly losing it at the thought that  _Sherlock-Brainy-is-the-new-sexy-Holmes_ was rimming him, John jolts a bit, trying to calm the tension that was building between him and the mattress...

 

Unaware of the starring role he was having in his flatmate dream Sherlock was sleeping on the sofa when his phone rings. (Bien sûr! it's only a dream, naughty readers! Sherlock won't take advantage of his drunk friend like that, shame on you!). Holding it in front of his eyes, he quickly replies. “Lestrade... it’s better be... WHAT! On my way!” Rushing to his bedroom to wake John, not noticing that the bedspread he placed over his friend was now in disarray as well as John's blissful expression, he shouts while placing a coffee on the nightstand before opening the window to let the sun in. “JOHN! Quick! A crime scene!!”

The poor man, still hungover, summersaults.  _Christ, it was only a dream... I am so stupid, of_ course _, it was a dream..._  As the detective was screaming his name again the doctor protests. “Stop! My head...” Closing his eyes against the sun, he tries to calm his raging erection by the force of his will; Trying at the same time to quash his emotions, the feeling of loss as his dream escapes his mind.  _I need a few minutes of alone time in the shower. Now._ Sherlock, always aware of what he needs, went to the bathroom to start the shower.

“Quick! You’ve got 10 minutes!”

As Sherlock barges back into his bedroom to pick out his clothes, John grumbles while walking to the sanctuary of the bathroom. “The corpse won’t go anywhere...”

“It’s not a murder!” The detective t-shirt flies in a corner. “Moriarty! Bank of England,” He was panting a bit, trying to remove is pajama bottom while putting a shirt. “Pentonville and... the Crown Jewels!”

His mouth open in astonishment, both for the crimes and because Sherlock was literally striping in front of him, John remains under the bathroom doorway, frozen in place.

“JOHHHHHN! SHOWER! You’ve got 8 minutes now!!”

Snapping out of his trance, he jumps in the shower where the cold water was finally enough to clear his hangover and the last remains of his dream... Taking comfort from the idea that a big case was perfect to calm his imagination and focus Sherlock's attention elsewhere. Not realizing that this morning was the first step towards a fall into a nightmare worse than anything he lived through since he came back from war.

 

 

Weeks later...

Afraid for his friends, unable to imagine a world without John in it, the detective jumps to protect the man he loves more than anything.

Unable to imagine his world without Sherlock, his best friend, his other half... The last words they exchange echoing endlessly in his head, John cries and screams.  _Alone is what I have, alone protects me... No! Friends protect people!_ Wanting to touch Sherlock, to know if it was true... _Machine, I can't believe I called you a machine! I'm sorry, I love you... I love you..._ Unable to cope, John faints, heartbroken.

 

 

Three weeks later, as the doctor left the cemetery with Ms. Hudson in one of Mycroft's black sedans, Greg shakes his head about his friend devastated look.  The ceremony was simple, the monument classic and elegant the only remains of Sherlock Holmes' life. _No date, nothing more than his name_... A bit later, sitting in a nearby pub with some of the attendees, he sighs, thinking about the relationship between John and Sherlock. _Whatever they had said about not being in a relationship... it was something strong._  He remembers with confusion the last real discussion he had with John, in that same pub, weeks earlier.  _He confessed his love for the man. Don’t know if it's worse, that John had the guts or not to tell him before... before..._  Looking at his whiskey, he raises it in Sherlock memory, murmuring sadly "And to think that two of our friends were in a more important relationship than I have ever been so far. Without even being honest enough to admit it to one another. So sad. Don't you think, Mike?"

"And the most horrible thing is that they never realized that the other was thinking the same..." Reminiscing about how his wife was always talking about how they could have become a great couple, he continues. "To think that I've done everything to bring them together... all for nothing."

"Yes, but nonetheless, they were a stronger couple than my so-called wife and I would ever be... you know that I asked for a divorce? Shit, we didn't last two years..." Tears appeared in his eyes as the poem John post on his blog before shutting it down spring in his mind.  _He was my North, my South, my East and West. My working week and my Sunday rest... _Wiping away a tear, he shakes his head sadly _. How could they both have been so blind?_

Mike raises his glass as well, hoping to ease Greg's pain a bit. "To Sherlock!" 

"To Sherlock, where-ever the git happens to be, Hell or Paradise!"

 

 


	4. 3rd wedding, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has a chat with Molly that forces him to stop and think about what and who he wants.  
> But how can he when he has kept one too many secrets - the secret about Sherlock's 'death,' from the one person he has ever had feelings for,,,

“Have you spoken to John recently?” Mycroft was taking coffee with Molly, a regular occurrence since Sherlock's 'death'.  She is one of the few who knows the truth after all, and he can speak freely, as freely as he dares.

“No,” she replies, trying to hide the stress these meetings caused her . “But you know  that,  Mr Holmes, you have CCTV watching over us.”

With a smile, Mycroft admits the truth of her suggestion.  “But it’s for your security above all, Doctor Hopper.”

“And to watch over Greg...” she mutters, hiding a smirk behind her cup.

“What?” It was only years of hard as steel control over himself that stopped the government man's face from turning a lovely shade of pink. “What are you insinuating?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.” Extending her slender hand, she daintily took a shortbread from the delicate plate in front of them.

“If you think that my... my... interest in Grego –” He stops, realizing what he was saying a bit too late. “In  _DI Lestrade_  is anything else that my desire...  **my will...** of keeping him...  **Alive!...**  For when Sherlock returns, you are mistaken.” He was now sitting so upright, and holding himself together so tightly, as he fights to keep his composure. “And DI Lestrade is invaluable to the Met.”

Laughing silently at the not-so-cold-now man's confusion, she remains silent for a moment. “But, you have to know, it’s really hard for me to keep the secret from Greg. He’s a friend, I see him often. Way more than I do John!” Mycroft's  demeanour  instantly turns cold as ice as he watches the pathologist with attention.

“Have you established a romantic relationship with DI Lestrade, Dr. Hooper ? ” He asks, frostily.

“No, nothing like that, of course... It’s just that he’s so sad, all the time and I think that he would be able to understand why it was a secret.”

“So you think that...”

“You should talk to Greg, he feels so guilty, all the time!”  _And the rest is up to you, Sir!_

A few  days later, Mycroft was sitting in a pub, waiting for Lestrade who was now 15 minutes late.  _A pub._ _It’s not that bad, I’ve been in worse... But a pub! I don’t understand why he refuses to come to my club!_  Since his discussion with Molly Hopper, he was restless, unable to sleep, unable to work properly, a meeting on his turf would have been easier, less public.  _It can't go on like this!_  Rising to leave the pub, his thoughts were interrupted by a warm voice.

“Mycroft, where are you going? Sorry, I’m a bit late...”  _But not that late, the git could have waited a bit longer...!_

“Oh... DI Lestrade. Yes, sorry, I was... please, sit.”  _A bit of coherence would be great now._ The man’s heart jolts at the smile that appears on Greg’s face.  He was planning on waiting  for  his brother’s return to investigate his feeling for the older man, but it was hard!  _So hard! I am in so much trouble._ Frowning at the flirty waitress that came to take Lestrade’s order, he quickly takes a large gulp of the sub-par whiskey he had ordered, but not touched.

“What’s wrong? You look, I don’t know... Frazzled.”  _If something or someone can stress the Great Mycroft Holmes it’s serious!_

Without being able to stop himself Holmes murmurs, “I have something to say but not here.”

Worrying, Greg looks longingly at the woman who was pouring his pint. “Really? Is it serious? Can’t it wait a bit? I’ve had a shitty day, I need a beer --”

“Oh... It can wait... No problem.”  _I’ve got one more chance to change this course of action, to stay silent, to keep the secret... that Sherlock is alive! I can’t drop this on Gregory, especially if it’s selfish on my part because I want a level playing field to start another kind of relationship with him. Is it better to risk everything by telling him that we lied to him before or after I’ve opened my heart to him?_ He was  phasing  out slowly, his mind calculating thousands of outcomes for his current predicament.

“Mycroft? Are you with me?” The cop smiles warmly at the young woman who delivered his drink. “Thank you,  love , you’ve made my day!”    _A perfect pint, Mycroft in front of me, this is the best way to end the day... or the night!_ He quickly chided himself.  _Ridiculous to think_ _someone as posh as Mycroft Holmes could fall for me. He’s probably asexual like Sherlock!_ But an echo in his mind swiftly replies, ‘ _Maybe you can be his John? His exception!_ ’ The cold voice of the man brought him back from his reverie. And not the way he was dreaming of!

“You should ask her phone number you know...” Mycroft was looking out the window, trying so hard to not care. “You’re a bit old for her but she’s clearly interested.” 

“What?” Frowning, Greg was looking at the man as if he were crazy. “What are you talking about?”

“The woman, you could ask her for a date or something.” He elegantly yet dismally waves in the direction of the waitress.

“Maybe I could.” He waits  a few  minutes before talking again. “But I will not.”

“Why not? She’s clearly interested.” He turns his gaze back on the young woman who was chatting with customers  a few  tables away. “... and some kind of people may find her somewhat  _attractive_ .”

Laughing out loud, the policeman couldn’t believe Holmes’ disgusted tone. He mutters, repeating Mycroft’s words “some kind of people may find her somewhat  _attractive_ !” He shakes his head, adding “God! Could you please be more of a snob!  Waiting  tables is hard work and --”

“I am not  a snob !” Mycroft objects more forcefully than he intended.  _Why does everybody think I’m a snob?_

“What else would you call that then if not being a posh elitist? Not being able to appreciate the beauty of a woman because she’s not of your social class?”

Putting money on the table, including a generous tip, Mycroft takes up his umbrella, and gets to his feet, then retorts quietly, “It’s called being gay.”

 

Leaving his coat behind, Greg quickly runs after the man. “MYCROFT! WAIT!”  _I can’t believe that I called him a ‘posh elitist’! As if ‘snob’ wasn’t already too much!_ He reaches the man a second before he jumps inside his car, the driver already holding the door open. “Please, don’t leave like that... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...” With a worried glance at  the other man – who looks more like a bodyguard – he softly closes the door. “Walk a bit with me, would you? We never talked about what you wanted to discuss.”

“It’s all right DI Lestrade, I overreacted.”  Nodding at his chauffeur, he strides in the direction of the river which was just a street corner away, not looking at Greg.

“No, no... My words were out of place...  You  have always been hard but fair on everyone, regardless of their position or fortune.” It was the truth, he can’t recall a moment  where  Mycroft had ever been condescending to  Ms.  Hudson, Molly, John or the few people around him. The respect for and from his staff was real. “I see how you interact with others. You are sarcastic, caustic, and cold, yes. But conceited? Snotty? Never. I think that... like your brother, you  are not used  to having people around you who really  care  and... it’s unsettled you.”

Now in front of the Thames, standing tall, hands gripping tightly to his umbrella, Mycroft's  first  reflex was to  turn  back to his car after a glacial  _How dare you!_  but something in Lestrade’s tone stopped him. It was  amicable , warm, caring... “Maybe I don’t have your talent to...  _mingle_ , DI Lestrade.”

“I don’t have that  many  friends, as you well know...” He leans against the railing, looking at the boats. “a lot of pub buddies, I’ve got a good relationship with my colleagues I think but... I’m the boss. So... John  is  or was a good friend, we haven't seen each other that much since... since Sherlock’s death. You know probably more about his life than I do right now!”

“Not really...” Mycroft was listening to Greg with a hint of distance.  _Come on Sherlock! Be safe, be quick. I can’t lie like this anymore... Not to Gregory! He’s such a good man!_ He was afraid that he wasn’t going able to keep the secret for  long . “It’s harder now that he’s no longer at Baker Street!”

“That's  sad , poor man. He loved Sherlock so much! It’s too late but... do you think that Sherlock would have, you know, accepted John’s advances, eventually?” He knew that the detective had rebuked the doctor on their first night, but otherwise he knew nothing except what everyone  suspects : that they were in love but too idiotic to admit it!

Thinking about his brother with fondness, Mycroft sighs sadly. “I don’t know, you are the expert in love and such, not me...”

With a smirk, Greg protests. “I have been married for years to an unfaithful woman, I am far from being an expert!”

“You have more experience in such matters, I quickly realized that it wasn’t for me.” He chuckles derisively, trying to hide his shyness about the subject. “So, no matter how many relationships you have had, you are better equipped than I am.”

Mycroft's voice was even and calm as it ever was, but Greg knew better. “Oh, it’s not as a big number as you may think!” The DI was trying to stay  relaxed , not wanting to scare the government man with  a heavy  discussion. “I’ve never been much of one for  one-night  stands, I want to make a connection, a spark , you understand?” It was the truth, the idea of meaningless sex was not for him. “So... a few at uni, a couple after, then my wife... Since the divorce only once.”

“You sound dismayed about your bad fortune,” Mycroft jests. “Only one since your divorce, truly? It surprises me when you are so... when you are a nice mannered  middle-aged  bachelor with a good job.”

“Underpaid, if you count all the hours, always on call... it’s hard on the partner.” He shifts his gaze back at  Mycroft. “So... certainly less than  Beckham  but more than Gandhi!” He smiles at his own joke before dropping light heartily. “A total of 11 women and... 3 men.”

_ Men. I didn’t see that in his file... It wasn’t germane to the discussion, he could have  stayed  silent about it. Is it only to acknowledge what I said at the pub? To explain that he’s tacitly not judging me? But is it possible that he’s... he’s attracted to me? If not, why did he bring it up?  Anyway, if I want to go further with that, I must tell him about Sherlock! _

“You are phasing out again, Mycroft, it’s quite  disturbing, ” Greg mutters, looking at the man with worry in his eyes.

_ Okay, now. _   _Or never._ “I have something to say... but I need you to stay calm till the end.” 

“Yes, I will, of course. But what is it?” Greg's anxiety was rising, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

“You remember the day Sherlock felt from Bart’s?” Mycroft tone was full of authority now that he decided to talk.

“How could I forget the day your brother died --”

Mycroft, with a sarcastic smile, murmurs, “There's the rub for in that sleep of death what dreams may come…"

“What are you talking about? Get on with it!”

Looking  into  the man's eyes, Mycroft drops the bomb without further preparation. “Sherlock is not dead.”

“What are you saying...?” Greg sways, holding on to the iron railing before dropping to the sidewalk, shaken.  _It can’t be a joke... It’s real..._  “But we... we mourned... and John. Oh God! John, he nearly killed himself half a dozen  times!” Tears start to fall from his tired eyes, the emotions too complex to comprehend. Joy because the git was still  alive;  relief because he didn’t cause the death of the great man ;  hate against the Holmes men for being so cold and so constantly secretive, pain at the thought of John’s unnecessary agony...  _No, it’s impossible that Sherlock was heartless enough to fake to jump in front of John without telling him_ _ beforehand ... I am the only one who  doesn’t _ _know, of course! John was playing a part. It’s the only way... the only possibility._  Rising his head to look at Mycroft he utters with a broken voice. “John, John knew, right? I am not important, I understand, but John... he knew. Tell me that HE KNEW!” Rising from the ground to confront Mycroft he repeats to the still silent man. “Holmes, tell me that John was in on it.” 

“No, he wasn’t... He’s still unaware and it must stay like that!” Placing a hand on Greg’s arm, he barks out, “YOU CAN NOT TELL JOHN!”

The detective, clearly under the shock of the news, pushes Mycroft away from him, only able to mutters “But...”

“Let me explain...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit far from the movie... but no worries! It's going to end in the traditional kiss-in-the-pouring-rain :-)
> 
> 2018/09/30: Sorry for the long delay! It's coming :-)


	5. 3rd wedding, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year later, it's Mycroft and Greg's wedding...

_ I can’t believe we are finally here today!  _ Greg was looking at his husband across the small but splendid reception hall. He was  magnificent in a marine bespoke suit, not a morning suit as they wanted to stay simple, a complement to Greg’s dove one.  _It’s been an unbelievable year!_  Thinking about Sherlock, now his brother-in-law, a little smile adorns his lips even if he was worrying sick about the man.  _Me, a Holmes! The git would have to learn my name now, h_ _e’s not going to like that!_

“What’s so funny, love?” Mycroft presses a hand on his back before kissing his lips lightly - to the delight of the people around them - and murmurs daringly. “Don’t tell me your ideas for our Wedding Night are amusing? Should I quickly order some oysters?”

Finding the mirth in the tall man’s eyes the only aphrodisiac he needs, Greg chuckles before whispering in his ear. “No, not at all... It’s going to be many things but certainly not a joke. Even if I like it when I’m able to make you laugh.” 

“ Bad man ... don’t say that when  we  have hours before the end of... all that.” Discreetly caressing Gregory’s bottom – so nicely clad in his trousers – Mycroft was on the verge of proposing a quick exit when  a happy  laugh stops his path.

“Don’t even think about it,  Mike !” Mrs. Holmes was looking at the couple with a big grin “You are not escaping your own wedding!” Hugging Gregory with force she repeats her vows for their happiness, tears in her eyes. “but to think that –"

“Mummy...” His son warns. Looking around them he saw that they were  fortunately  in  a secluded  alcove while Anthea was innocently keeping the others away. “Be careful... it’s a happy occasion. You may be melancholic thinking of Sherlock, but you know why we are doing that...” He winks – _winks for God’s graces!_ – at Gregory and adds, “ besides,  he’s the love of my life.  Of  course.”

“Yes, I know. But he would have  loved  to be here... if only to tease you mercilessly.” She turns her gaze toward her husband who, taking her hands to calm her, took the opportunities to repeat his good wishes.  

“Son, Greg... I know that your path won’t always be roses and sunshine. But it’s going to be a hell of a lot easier by being together.” His voice broke a bit when he mutters while giving a big hug to both men “Hope you will have a nice honeymoon.”

“Oh! Look, it’s Doctor Watson... Who’s that woman with him?” Mrs. Holmes was frowning, not liking the idea that the man his son loved – she’s not an idiot! – had replaced him.

Seeing the combative stance of his mother, Mycroft smirks “Calm down, Mummy...” before offering a stiff smile to John and his date.

_   _

> _ 2 weeks ago... _
> 
> “Love, what’s this?" Mycroft was holding an elegant envelope with their initials on it. “I thought that we already received all the replies?”
> 
> “I was waiting... because I wanted to talk to you about it.” With a small sigh, Greg sips his coffee. “It’s John...”
> 
> “Oh... right.  _We_  invited him.” In fact, they both know that Greg was responsible for the invitation sent to John Watson. Mycroft wasn’t in favour of it as it was going to make everything awkward for them.
> 
> Opening John’s RSVP, Greg turns the heavy paper so his fiancé was able to read it: John Watson + 1 (Mary Morstan)
> 
> _Shit_ , Mycroft mutters silently, repeating the name in his head.  _Mary Morstan... Soon to be Mary Watson if that visit at the jewelery shop is conclusive. It sounds so wrong! For so many reasons!_
> 
> “I knew that he was seeing a nurse from his surgery, so it was expected... but nonetheless, it’s weird don’t you think?”
> 
> “More than weird...” Putting down his cup, Mycroft's look hardened. “The thought of my little brother being reckless, rushing through the rest of his mission because he wants to go back to  _his_  John when the doctor is... when he's...” The repugnance in Mycroft's voice was obvious.
> 
> Hugging his boyfriend from behind, Greg asks for the thousandth times “Are you sure that we can’t –”
> 
> “No, Gregory, you promised me. And you promised to stop asking!” That discussion on  _if they should or shouldn’t tell John about Sherlock_  was the only strain on their relationship. Looking at the return address, he shudders. “I can’t believe they are already living together! It’s pretty quick... don’t you think?”
> 
> “Yes, but he was so lost... And to think that we are going to  get  _him_  back while on our honeymoon, or at least going to try...” He chuckles, thinking about his always nicely clothed boyfriend doing some leg work. “And regarding the quickness of all this... It’s been pretty  quick  for us too! In a year we fall in each other arms, I’ve  moved  with you, you proposed...” In fact, as soon as Greg understood the reasons why Sherlock faked his death and why it must stay secret, Mycroft hadn’t been able to stay silent about his feelings, once he realised that Greg's were similar.  _We've been fools!_
> 
> Not wanting his lover to doubt for a moment the seriousness of his commitment, Mycroft locks his eyes on Gregory’s, holding his gorgeous face between his hands. “You know that we are going a bit quick  with the wedding and all but that it’s  _real_. I would have wedded you months ago if I had had the courage to ask.” Kissing his partner, he continues. “It’s only that it’s the perfect occasion to do something without arousing suspicion or –”
> 
> “I know love, I know...” He playfully kisses back “don’t worry. And, for the record, I can’t wait to be your husband either.”

 

As John and Mary were walking toward them, talking to others on their way, Greg whispers in his new husband's ear. "I don't like her, don't know why... something's just  not right!”

"I know, but what can we say? Wait? That  maybe  something... someone better for you  is  coming?"

"YES!" As many turn their head towards them, he murmurs "We must do something! Think about... him. You must find some dirt against her!"  _I can’t think like that, I’m a bloody cop!_

"I do think about Sherlock, all the time Gregory." He hugs the older man tightly, trying to find the right words. "But... we don't even know if John felt that way about him. Or if he still does. And regarding Ms. Morstan, no obvious red flags, nothing that made us think we needed to investigate her further. Anyway, I think that Sherlock wouldn’t like it if we play around with John’s life... What a mess."  

Careful to not be heard by anyone, the DI asks, "But... we are certain about your brother feelings, no?"

"Yes, maybe... But who knows about him!"  _Not even me! His brother!_ As the doctor and his date finally arrive in front of them, Mycroft stretched his already tall frame extending to his full height.  _Into battle as my dear brother is always saying._  “Ah! Doctor Watson, nice of you to come to our little gathering.”

Extending his hand, John lightly hugs Greg “I wouldn’t have missed your wedding for the world!” Forcing himself to smile at Holmes, he adds. “I wish you the best for today and all the days that will follow.” Holding his date closer, he continues. “Let me introduce you to my girlfriend, Mary Morstan.”  

Mycroft's flawless good manners coated a glacial, “Nice to meet you, Miss Morstan.” followed by a similar comment, but a bit warmer,  from Greg.

Frowning at the couple's attitude, John walks away as soon as the niceties were done to chat with Molly and Ms. Hudson while Mary went to the restroom. After a quick hug, the pathologist asks, “Are you all right John? You look disgruntled?”

“I don’t know... It’s just that it’s silly, but I’ve got the feeling that Greg and Mycroft don’t like Mary. But it's ridiculous, they do not know her and –” John shrugs and decides to let it slide.  _But I'm not crazy, Sher_ _lock's parents beeline to the bar when I arrived!_  

“Mary?” Ms Hudson inquires with a perplexed frown, holding tightly to her third glass of wine.

“Yes, Mary. My girlfriend... We started to live together a month ago, and – this is a secret – but I’m going to propose to her very soon!”  John's happiness sounded so fake that Molly cringes.

“ Oh,  John! So soon after Sherlock!” The old lady shakes her head.

“For the thousandth times, Ms Hudson, Sherlock and I are... weren’t a couple. Never have been!”    _I shouldn’t have come here... Everything is wrong!_ Nodding to both women, he walks back to Mary who was walking out of the restroom. Taking her hands, he was going to simply leave the hall,  _I know when I am not welcome!,_  when some of the yarders  call them to their table. With a brighter smile, John joins them proud to present his soon-to-be fiancée to a more neutral crowd and finally able to relax a bit.  _Is it too hard for people to be happy for me! I’ve been moping enough for a lifetime over the last 2 years!_

_   _

As  the hours  pass, John  becomes  more and more silent, only replying to direct questions. His eyes didn’t  leave  Mary, still  dumbfounded  by the marvel of having her near him.  _How could I’ve been so lucky to found someone else –_ His thoughts stop as a tremor appears on his hands. _No, no, what did I... No, not someone else. Someone period. Someone real! It was impossible, only a dream with... with... Oh my God, I shouldn’t think about him when I’ve got the perfect woman by my side._  Ms. Hudson's, ‘So soon after Sherlock’, the displeased look on Mycroft’s face... Everything was spinning in his head.  _I desired him enough, I won’t deny it, but I knew it was always one-sided. That he didn’t do things like that. Anyway, even if I love... LOVED him... He’s dead._ He mentally choked on the last word.  _It’s been nearly three years! I must go on._ He was trying to keep his feelings in check without being able to stop a wave of memories, but it was impossible. Being around Greg's squad brought all the adventures he had with Sherlock. _He and I against the world... He and I._.. The feeling of a  gentle hand on his forearm, a light squeeze and he was back to the table, looking in Mary’s troubled eyes.

“Are you all right John? Do you want to go?” John smiles lazily at the blonde woman's warm tone. “Come on then, it has been a rough evening...” A hand on the small of her back, the doctor nods to a few of the guests while walking to the exit, leaving his doubts behind as his friends watch his exit, frowning.

At last, around midnight, the party was coming to an end. The last guests leaving one after the other, an array of limousines waiting in a row to take home the few officials that befriend the couple.  Few were still dancing to a slow pace, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were among the enthusiastic dancers. Mycroft was in a corner with Anthea and Lady Smallwood while Greg was relaxing, talking to his team, a glass of whisky in hand. Taking out his phone, the detective texted his husband. 

> Are you talking about our trip, love? GL
> 
> Yes. And thinking about you, of course, husband mine. MH
> 
> I like that when you are possessive. You know that it's done, I am yours. GL
> 
> Nothing amiss? GL
> 
> Everything is fine, Alicia went to Vienna a month ago, she gave me a list of restaurants that we should try. MH
> 
> Among other things. MH
> 
> Great! And opera, you know that you love that stuff. GL
> 
> I already have tick ets for the  Wiener Staatsoper, don't worry you won't be able to escape an evening to the opera. MH
> 
> Wiener Staatsoper? GL  
> 
> 
> You have so much to learn about so many things, my love. It is going to be my pleasure to educate you. MH
> 
> You know nothing about football and Doctor Who, I will have some thing to teach you as well ;-) GL
> 
> We shouldn't text when we are in company. I'll talk to you soon Gregory. MH
> 
> We are newlyweds, we can do whatever the hell we want! GL
> 
> TTYL x GL

Greg was having a great time with his coworkers, the slow music was still going on - the stamina of his in-laws was spectacular! - when a little commotion makes them turn their heads in one movement. Dimmock chokes on his drink when he saw what was causing it. It was the Prime Minister, surrounded by her bodyguards. The little group was led by Anthea in direction of Mycroft and Lady Smallwood. At Greg's satisfaction, his whole squad promptly get to their feet in respect. As the woman was approaching Mycroft with a smile and an extended hand, Greg mutters, "Sometimes I'm a kind of afraid of what I've gotten myself into..."  _This_ _life we've got! When I think that I've got a letter at home signed by the Queen to congratulate us on our upcoming nuptials._ Shrugging his shoulders, he slaps Donovan on the back playfully. "Sorry Sally, I've got to talk to our... guest." and walks over to his husband thinking how beautiful he is like that, all relaxed while talking with one of the most powerful people in England. 

 

"Ouf... I thought they'll never leave." Mycroft falls on the bed with his clothes on, not wanting to move for at least twenty-four hours. They were finally back home, not wanting to spend the night at the hotel as they were leaving early in the morning. Shaking himself, he rises from the bed and starts to remove his suit.  _I can't be selfish! Sherlock is my first priority!_   The wedding was that, a cover, as a way of allowing Mycroft to leave the country on a non-government trip. A way to convince his associates that it was normal that the man who hasn't take a holiday in ten years wasn't planning something behind their backs. The invitations were sent when his brother was planning his last operation, Vienna was chosen as the meetup location. The news of his brother misfortune that he received 48 hours ago changed the plan, it's not more a meetup for a discreet return but a difficult 24 hours operation in hostile territory.  He turns as Greg exits the en-suite with a serious expression on his face. "Something wrong love?"

"It's just that it's our wedding night, but I am so stressed out about... our trip... I can't think about anything else." Hugging his husband tightly, he kisses him softly. "I love you so much Mycroft..." 

"Me too, love..." _I'm so happy that we are on th_ e same page on this! 

"But all this is mental. Are you sure we can pull it off?"

Holding his hand, the government man stirs Greg to the little desk in the room where he left his computer. "Do you want to go over everything one last time?" 

"Yes, I would like to." The older man was looking at the screen, the little dot in Serbia showing the stronghold where Sherlock was probably incarcerated, only an hour's flight from Vienna.  _This must work! It must!_ Mycroft's tranquil assurance was the only thing that helped him retains a bit of calm. "and after, when Sherlock going to be safe, it's going to be the correct moment for our real Honeymoon."

"Will do, Gregory, when it's all over, when my brother is safe... Tonight, I just want to feel your warmth all around me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in the middle of fictober (One chapter a day...) and I can't find the time to continue this WIP. Don't worry, stay around it's coming!


	6. An (somewhat uneventful) honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Greg and Mycroft plotting and sightseeing in Vienna... Sherlock is on his way back home. (A small chapter to explain how they did it before returning to the present day)

(A week after the wedding)

"Are you sure about that, My'?" Greg was keeping his husband close to his chest. "It's dangerous..." He was confident in all the preparations they had made over the last weeks, but nonetheless, it was a risky mission.

"I know, but if it's dangerous for me..."

"Think about him. I know."  The idea of Sherlock being held prisoner and probably questioned by unsavoury criminals was too horrible to imagine! "But to think about you... there."

"I won't be alone, Simpson is going to be with me. You know how he is, he won't allow anyone to touch me! Everything going to be perfect, in 12 hours at the most we are going to be back." Hoping to lighten the mood, Mycroft rolls over, opening his arms for Greg like a model on a runway. "What do you think?"

"You are really dashing in khaki." The DI chuckles sadly. "Be careful, love, and bring him home."

As Mycroft's bodyguard and chauffeur shouts that they need to leave now, the window for a discreet flight was closing quickly, Mycroft promptly gives one last kiss to Greg. "Follow our plan, darling, we are going to hold each other soon."

"I will. Go... he doesn't know, but he's waiting for you." 

After one last look, Mycroft turns and runs to the small plane for the one-hour flight to Serbia, as Greg - still in his best suit and ready to play his part - rushes to the car. 

 

7 hours later...

Mycroft was sitting in the plane, watching an unconscious Sherlock, tears in his eyes.  _How could he have survived all this?_ He wasn't a doctor but, at first sight, the damage was extensive. Surveying the tortured body of his younger brother he was unable to stifle a shiver. One broken arm, broken ribs, eyes rimmed with filth - probably an infection of some sort - and his feet, bloody and raw from many small razor thin cuts, his way too thin body covered in bruises and small wounds. And his back... _Oh my God, brother mine, what have they done to you? At least, you are not suffering now._ The government man, realizing in what state his brother was, had quickly administrated a light and safe sedative. 

Thinking about the state of his brother when they opened the cell - sickly thin, broken, staying up only because of the chains that were attaching him into the ceiling, the quantity of blood, urine, and vomit on the floor - Mycroft was once more possessed by an uncontrolled rage. The satisfaction when he heard the sound of the deflagration that destroyed the compound was his only comfort _._   Holding the hand that was somehow left unbroken, Mycroft was feeling useless.  _At least those bastards are never going to touch you again._

The rescue was executed brilliantly, exactly as planned. His role as a general, allied to their cause, easily opened the door to the cell. The vicious warlord was anxious to please and eager to get rid of the prisoner.   _They told me that he said nothing of his mission, or of who he was working with. They even never realized that he wasn't from Eastern Europe..._  Impressed by the strength of his brother's mind, able to resist to what looks like weeks of torture, Mycroft was praying for a swift and calm flight. Positioning himself near his brother's ear, the stench of his infected wounds nearly insupportable, he murmurs g ently,"you only needs to be courageous a few more hours, brother mine, you are going to be home soon."

 

Greg was sorting their luggage when the discreet knock they agreed on (two knocks, a pause, then two knocks, and then a single one) made him rush to the door. Mycroft was there, in one piece and now dressed as a waiter, pushing the breakfast tray. After the door was closed, the DI whispers between kisses, "are you okay? Is he okay? I was so worried!"

"Yes, to both..." Mycroft replies, exhausted by the night's events. "Did no one come last night? Everything is alright?"

"Nobody came, not even me!" Greg jokes thinking about the jumping and humping he did to mimic the expected behaviour of newlywed. "I've been to the Opera, the actor who was playing your role was flawless. We sat at the back of the box and everything went as it should. Nobody suspected that you weren't with me."  _Thank God for never-ending opera!_ Holding Mycroft closely, not wanting to let him go, he asks hesitantly,"Sherlock, how is he?"

"Oh, Gregory..." With a sob, the imperturbable man finally broke in his lover's arms. "What they have done to him... it's horrible. I don't even know... if he's going to be okay."

"Shhhhh, love, it's going to be alright."  For Greg, it was hard to believe that that crazy plan of a fake yet real honeymoon in Vienna as they planned Sherlock's rescue had  actually worked!  _But if anyone was able to do it, it's Mycroft! I shouldn't have doubted him!_   "He's in the ambulance?"

"Yes, waiting in a discreet spot until it's time to join us on our plane." not releasing his hold on his husband, he explains "they are going to do a first cleaning of the wounds, stabilizing everything that needs to... but he needs to be in a hospital and far away from this place as soon as possible."

"Okay love... everything is ready. You just have to take a shower, change into your own clothes and we are ready to go." Helping his husband out of the borrowed outfit, he states in a hush, "let's go home." 

 

 

(Few days later - Present time)

"How is married life?" Donovan asks, a little smirk on her lips.  _Can't believe he's married to Sherlock Holmes' brother!_ "Have you settled in your new home, you've been living there for a few months now, no?"

"We've been back from honeymoon for a bit more than two weeks now, and everything is perfect!" Greg replies with an honest smile even if he was still angry about Sally's implication in brother-in-law's downfall, especially now that he knows first hand the price he paid. _But she's an important member of my team!_ Wanting to act as naturally as possible, he adds."And the house is so wonderful now that we changed a few things to incorporate my taste..." He wasn't missing his tiny apartment at all."The kitchen by itself is bigger than my entire old flat!" 

"You've got to have an incentive to be married to an Ho --" the woman mutters before being cut short by her boss.

"DONOVAN, I won't let you disrespect my husband or his family!" He points to the door.  She tried to apologize, she wasn't stupid and she was now aware that she had been manipulated by Moriarty, but Greg wasn't ready to listen.  _And to think, that for her and everyone else, Sherlock is still dead!  How disrespectful!_ "Get OUT!" With a sad face, she turns quickly only to be stopped by Mycroft who was standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Gregory." The warmth in his gaze disappeared as his eyes fall on his husband's subordinate, "Sergeant Donovan."

"Mister Holmes," she froze, not knowing what to say and unsure if the man  had heard what she just said. "I'm just taking the opportunity to congratulate the DI on your wedding... Sorry that I wasn't able to attend... I was on duty and..."

"It's all right, Sergeant," Holmes interrupts coldly "you weren't invited anyway so you needn't worry." In fact, Mycroft was the one who made sure that she was working that night... as he knew that it was going to be hard for his fiancé to invite his whole squad with the exception of Donovan. "Gregory, are you ready to go to lunch or do you prefer if I come back later?"

"No, I'm done here... let me grab my coat." As Donovan nods a last salute and rushes outside her boss office, Greg shakes his head. "Don't be so hard on her, I think that she realizes how easily Anderson and her fell for Moriarty's master plan. She's trying to change her but she's hated your brother for so long, it's hard." 

"Stop protecting her, love." With a little devious edge in his tone, Mycroft shrugs and whispers. "It was quite invigorating to watch you defend my family name." 

"Invigorating... What a nice way to put it, My'." Greg tone was definitely flirty as, now that Sherlock was stable and on the road to recovery, they felt more inclined to return to the intimacy of their relationship that had been neglected over the last months. "Tell me... are you really that hungry?" 

Laughing, Mycroft presses his husband forward to move him towards the door. "Don't be greedy, love, you need to eat first. You skipped your breakfast this morning."

"And whose fault it is? I was late because of you!" Greg chuckles in his ear, thinking back to the lovely time they had, finally without the worry that had surrounded them since they had returned from their honeymoon/rescue mission. 

Both trying to stay (remotely) serious, they walk up to Mycroft's car before their little moment was broken by Anthea.

"Sir, the doctor called a few minutes ago, your brother is finally fully awake and is asking for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back after Fictober! Wouhou!!


	7. An invitation

Mycroft was walking into the kitchen when the timer on the countertop rings. 

"Time for his meds, your turn." Greg smiles, kissing his husband lightly while sitting innocently at the kitchen table, drinking his second cup of coffee. 

Thinking about last night, when the DI had spent a few hours with his restless brother, Mycroft sighs.  _Poor Greg, as if our days were tranquil! It can't go on like this!_ "This is horrible, I know  _sentiments_ aren't my department usually, but he needs to talk to someone about... feelings and such. He won't talk to me!"  

"You can try to talk to him about it again, his nightmares are really horrible, My'. He needs professional help." Just thinking about what his brother-in-law had to deal with was already enough to spur a fit of nausea, he couldn't imagine how Sherlock dealt with it.  _And to think that he suffers all this for us!_ Pushing a pile of cold cases in his direction, he says sadly, "to help alleviate the boredom."

"Thanks, love." With a last squeeze of Greg's shoulder, he left the room and walked in the direction of his brother's bedroom.

 

It was only weeks after Sherlock return. For the newlyweds, it felt like months! As long as time can feel when you are waiting for something, anything, to happen. As monotonously repetitive in that frustrating way that a rainy day looks and sounds exactly like another rainy day. But different in all the way a situation already shitty can become... shittier. To his brother's satisfaction, Sherlock was finally out of trouble medically. To his brother's dismay, Sherlock was still bedridden simply from the sheer number of wounds he had suffered from. As heavy painkillers were out of the question, Sherlock didn't seem to mind the suffering and wanted to remain conscious of everything around him, the only thing to do was to sleep and to frequently delicately rub anaesthetic cream on the healing wounds and wait.  _Asking Sherlock to be still and wait was a recipe for disaster!_

As a result, he had a lot of time to think, to be bored, to drive everyone around him crazy!  _If it keeps going on like this, I'm going to get resignation letters on my desk!_   Feeling guilty that his mind was able to focus on the logistics of his own care when his brother needed it a thousand time more, he stops at Sherlock's door and pauses for a moment. His usual iron levelheadedness was starting to slip, and he knew it. All of it. Secretly managing Sherlock's mission from afar, keeping the secret from his friends and family, adjusting to his new life with Greg, the wedding, dealing with his brother's rescue... and now this. 

Sighing silently, he knocks lightly one time, finding the idea of entering the room without being invited now that Sherlock was awake, inconceivable. Smiling as he remembers the argument he had with his brother when he showed him the rooms when he purchased the house.  _Too proud or having been burned too many times to be able to accept that someone can do something without wanting something in return!_  In the detective's defence, the suite of three rooms - a small living including a desk and many books shelves, a bedroom as well as a bathroom - was more spacious than many London flats. Even if his brother rarely visits, for Holmes this space was his and only his. A safe harbour, a place where he can come at any time if the need arises.  A place where he could recover, if need be. Standing outside, still holding the case files in one hand, Mycroft knocks again with more force.

"Enter, for God's sakes! It's your damn house!" Sherlock mutters, his voice sounding harsh and tired. Mycroft knew that, even if the detective's face was neutral, the pain was probably intolerable. 

"Good morning, brother mine, have you slept well?"

"As if you didn't know..." the patient shrugs, turning his gaze to the window without looking at his brother.

"Yes, of course."  _All the household heard you scream!_ Turning quickly to look at the untouched breakfast, he frowns before shaking his arm to get his brother's attention.  _"_ I've brought you a gift!"

"Oh!" Sherlock's eyes sparkled a second before becoming clouded again. "Thank Lestrade for me when you go back to the kitchen, would you?"

Sitting at the bottom of the bed, Mycroft opens the first file, not acknowledging the subtle 'you can go now' "The kitchen? What gave me away? The odour of coffee probably... Anyway... this one look promising! It's dating from 1975, the biggest disco ball in London disappeared in a dance floor full of partygoers and nobody saw anything..."

With a low chuckle that ends in a wince, the detective asks "Are you really interested in something that trivial Mycroft..."

"I'm interested in anything that can help you think about something else..." His tone became softer as he sits closer. "You are so brave, you know... I can only imagine the pain you are in right now or the memories that plague your nights. I can't take them away from you and it's killing me. But I can try to do everything that I can to help you manage the weeks to come and, if you want, I... I know someone who can help you to deal with the --"

"I DON'T WANT JOHN TO SEE ME LIKE THIS!" The look of panic in his little brother's face was hard to watch.

"I know, peace Sherlock, peace... I know... You've told us so many times." Mycroft was unsure about informing John of his brother's 'resurrection' when Greg was adamant that they should!  _It's not the right time... and with that woman... The situation is unclear and I don't like it..._ "I'm talking about a therapist."

Turning sharply to look at his brother, Sherlock replies coldly. "I am not mad!"

"I never said that you were..." placing a comforting hand on his now shaking brother, Mycroft continues, "but you aren't a high-functioning-sociopath either. Please think about it. She's a brilliant woman who is working with MI5 and MI6 agents, she's going to be able to... understand... what you want or need to tell her."

Closing his eyes, exhausted, Sherlock nods and murmurs, "I'll think about it My'... I promise."

Leaving him to his rest after he gives him the generic non-addictive painkillers, the government man left the pile of cold cases on the nightstand near the untouched muffins and fruit. _I'll get him fresh tea later._

Once Mycroft had left his room, the detective fights his constant exhaustion and opens his eyes. Willing his body to obey, he sits and turns slowly before placing his legs over the side of the bed.  _All of this is tedious._ His head was spinning, the paracetamol doing little to relieve his constant pain. But it was okay. The pain was okay. The pain was the proof that he was alive. With the last drop of energy left in him, he rises slowly helping himself into the chair near his bed. The brand new walker was right beside his bed but he didn't need it.  _It's going to be cold in Hell before I use that geriatric object of shame! I am not fragile!_ He was up, still holding onto the chair when he realizes that maybe - just maybe! - he should have asked Mycroft help.  _Fuck!_ Picking up the walker with his other hand, he slowly walks to the bathroom, grumbling. 

Back in his bed, more than 15 minutes later, he was panting, exhausted and ready to faint. _"_ Thank God, John is not there to see this!" he murmurs to himself as his subconscious asks,  _Why? He's your friend and a doctor... He should be there, no? He's the best person to help heal you._ "NO!"  _No... I don't want him to see me like this... so diminished, all that because I was stupid enough to be captured, all this because I'm a failure..._ He knew that it was a lie, that it wasn't his fault, that he had defeated great criminals alone, without any support besides sporadic communications from his brother. That he was captured at the 10th hour of an infernal pursuit in the cold and the woods against dogs and mercenaries.  _You see_ , his mind supplies, _it wasn't your fault. And you resisted weeks of violent interrogation and torture._ Shaking his head, he tries to push away the comforting thought, but the only result was the return of his headaches. "I'm arguing with myself, not good. Am I schizophrenic now? Maybe I really do need a psychiatrist or something." Now back in his bed, he closes his eyes dreaming of the days before all this, dreaming of his home, dreaming of his John...

 

Mycroft was back into the kitchen after a quick shower when Anthea enters the room with a heavy document case. "All this already? I've been away for only two days..."

"You know how it is, Sir. People sneak into your office when you aren't there." The woman was looking as pristine as usual, but her boss's eagle eyes were able to see behind the clever make-up.

"Don't overwork yourself, dear. You can't do everything at the office as well as help us with the situation here without taking care of yourself properly. Anyway, right now Sherlock is probably back to sleep, you can't entertain him. Take your day, go to the spa or something..."

"I will, Sir. As soon as -"

"Anthea..."

"Yes, Sir." The young woman smiles with affection. "I will, right now." She was leaving when she places a few envelopes on the table. "Oh, I forgot! Your personal mail! Simpson gave it to me."

"Thanks, dear. Now go do something... feminine and fluffy." Laughing, the woman rushes to the door after one last greeting to her boss and Greg. Mycroft was on the verge of taking the first sip of his coffee when his husband swears. "Gregory? What is it?"

Without a word, the frowning DI pushes a lilac card emblazed with intricate initials as well as flying birds.  With mortification, Mycroft opens the document slowly, knowing perfectly well what he was holding.  

> _Doctor John H. Watson and Miss Mary Elizabeth Morstan request the pleasure of your company..._

"Shit." Greg swears, looking at his husband without knowing what to say.

"Yes, darling,  _shit_  indeed."

 

 


	8. 4th wedding

"I won't go!" Greg was adamant about it. "I won't be able to fake that I am happy about the whole affair!" It was John's wedding day, a  day that should be the epitome of joy and love. Unfortunately, it was the subject of a serious argument between Mycroft and Greg.

"He's your friend, you are the reason we are invited." He knew that their relationship had recovered a bit, now that John was over the somewhat cold reception Mary had received at their wedding but Mycroft wasn't a fool.  _I am not in John Watson's good graces!_

"Yes but..." his voice drops down a notch as he moved closer to Mycroft "He doesn't know about Sherlock, he's still in love with him! I am sure of it."  

"How can you be so sure..." 

Checking the kitchen door to be certain that Sherlock wasn't within earshot, he murmurs roughly, "you weren't at the stag night... he talked about Sherlock the entire time! His eyes... My', it was so fucking sad." 

"Love... we can't just barge into his wedding and say that we object! We are not in one of those silly comedies that you love so much!" Hugging his husband tightly, he kisses him softly trying to ease his mind without success.

Looking at Mycroft defiantly before pointing the ceiling, Greg replies with a bit more bites "No, but HE can!"

Thinking about his still fragile brother, who was starting to talk about going back to Baker Street but Mycroft was against the idea, the younger man protests, "I know that he's doing better, that the therapist has helped a lot with his nightmares, but he's not ready!" 

"It's going to be too late! Don't you see it! They need to have the choice, they need to discuss this together NOW! Not later when everything going to be even more complicated, when John, who is loyal to a fault is going to stay with her simply because he made a vow!" Greg was so angry at the situation, at the idea that John and Sherlock - who are clearly made for each other - won't have a chance.  And he was a bit angry at Mycroft, to be honest. "I don't understand! What are you afraid of!"

"Imagine that he doesn't love him anymore, what if even their friendship is over? Can we take that risk?" The image of his brother, high as a kite in a drug den, springs to his mind. "You know what I'm talking about, we can't take that risk, we can't tell him. He's not ready!"

"Who's not ready for what?" 

The voice, coming from the passageway, makes both men freeze. Greg, who was all for telling Sherlock, looked at his brother-in-law with a critical eye.  _He's so much better, the big gashes on his back are still healing but his mobility is back. His sleeping schedule is less erratic, the discussions with the therapist are not fruitless... Yes, he's ready to go back to his life with his doctor at his side or I'll be damned._  Careful to not look at his husband, who was probably screaming 'No' with his eyes, he replies quietly, "ready for a wedding."

 

John was alone in Mike's guest-room, looking at his morning suit.  _I can't believe, a real morning suit with hat and all._ Chuckling, he starts undressing slowly, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of all this. He was about to pull his jeans down when someone knocks at the door.

"Are you decent, mate?" A well-known voice calls. "Can I come in?"

"It's your house..." John laughs."Come in, Mike!"

The door opens a little, just enough to let Stamford in but blocks out his rowdy kids. "Sorry, John, they are overexcited!" 

"It's okay, a wedding is a nice place to have children around..."

Seeing that John's smile and apparent bonhomie wasn't as deep as the occasion deserved, his friend asks lightly. "So... everything is okay?"

"Yes, yes... It's just..." He smirks as he nods in the direction of the suit.

Laughing, Mike suggests, "a bit much?" 

"Yeah..." John laughs before chiding himself.  _You're a grown-up!_ "But it's perfect you know, Mary deserves everything and more..."

"Even if it's not what you wanted?"  _Don't do it mate, it's only a rebound... Don't do it..._

The groom stares at him as if his decades-old friend was crazy. "Of course it is what I want! What are you saying?"

"John, sorry..." Mike tries to calm his friend as he was trying to button the buttons of his shirt. "I didn't..."

"I know, I know... it's just nerves." _Fucking damn little plastic fuckers of hell!!_  

"It's only the biggest and most important day of your life, don't panic." Mike jokes, trying to enlighten John's mood. At his friend's dubious look, he repeats, "yeah, it is! You are marrying the person that you love and care about most in the world." 

_The person that I love and care about most in the world that is still alive._ Sadly, John picks up his cravat before mustering a smile that they both know is fake. "Being with Mary is the best thing that ever happened to me." He pauses, looking at his reflection in the mirror. "I love her and she loves me. And she wants all this, being a couple and everything, with me. I couldn't be happier."

Mike sighs silently, _I'm not as good as Sherlock was, but even I can hear the lie!,_   following John as he steps outside the bedroom to get to the car that was waiting for him in front of Stamford's house. His wife suddenly appears at his side and slides her hands inside his. 

"You can't kidnap him darling, he's a grown man." Thinking of the only time she saw Mary, she asks, "do you think she can be good for him?" 

"Maybe," he replies, his voice full of doubt.

Chuckling sadly, she kisses him on the cheek. "John has the right to have a life outside of Sherlock's memory." 

"I know... but I don't like her." Holding hands, they walk out of the house with the kids to go to the church.

 

 

_I don't like this, I don't like this..._  Greg was looking at Molly with worry. 

"Where's Mycroft?" She murmurs, pointing at the vacant place near her friend. "Is everything all right at  _home_?" The pathologist was, of course, aware that Sherlock wasn't dead and wasn't happy to be at John's wedding either.

"No,  _he's_  okay... but  _he's_  also aware of the wedding." The stress on the word was giving all the needed information. 

"Oh!" Turning to check the church door, as if she were expecting Sherlock to just barge in at any moment, "and what did he say?"

"Nothing... He bloody said nothing!" Greg uttered sadly. "Mycroft decided to stay with him to be sure that he stays put."

"But maybe... if we talk to John..."

Eyeing the front of the church where the doctor was waiting for Mary to walk down the aisle, he murmurs, "a bit late for that..."

 A happy buzzing fills the little church as the wedding march begins, announcing Mary's entrance.

 

 

John's ears were ringing with the clergyman's voice. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this special day for John and Mary _."_   The idea that this was it, that with this one vow he's going to swear to stop thinking about anyone else... That he must only be devoted to Mary and the family that may follow.  _Is it normal that I'm feeling weird, it must be the incense..._ Locking his eyes on Mary's he tried to find something to hang on to. She was smiling benevolently, lovingly.  _Yes, this is what I need... I'm being ridiculous..._ "We are here this afternoon to witness the joining in matrimony of Doctor John Hamish Watson and Mary Elizabeth Morstan,"  _I always hate that name, who the hell name their kid Hamish? Or  Mycroft and Sherlock... No, no, don't think about him. Mary, yes, Mary..._  Greg and Molly, as well as Stamford, were able to read the hesitation on John's face. _I wasn't able to be with Sherlock, he didn't want me like this.. I... pushed him to suicide... Mary, Mary is my future..._  "If anyone here knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage, they should declare it now." After waiting a few seconds, the officiant continues with a smile. "Before you are joined in matrimony, I have to remind you both of the solemn and binding character of the vows you are about to make. Marriage, in this country means the union of two people, voluntarily entered into for life, to the exclusion of all others. I shall now ask both of you, in turn, to declare that you do not know of any lawful reason as to why you should not be married to each other." Turning towards Mary, he asks, "do you know of any lawful impediment why you, Mary Elizabeth Morstan may not be joined in matrimony to John Hamish Watson?"

Mary's voice resonates, clear and joyful, "no."

After a nod, the old man turns towards the groom. "And you John, do you know of any lawful impediment why you, John Hamish Watson may not be joined in matrimony to Mary Elizabeth Morstan?" After a minute, the small gathering starts to murmurs as John remains silent. "John?"

"Yes, sorry..."

"So, it's no?" The clergyman asks playfully as many laughed.

"Yes... It's no."

"So, everything is right. Mary, do you take..."

 

 

As everybody cheers, John and Mary - now husband and wife - walk back down the aisle together.   Watching the newlyweds, Greg was nervous as if something was bound to happen! He nearly jumps when a hand touches his. "Mycroft! What are you doing here?" 

Quickly but quietly, the man explains that he had lost track of Sherlock. "I still don't understand, he was there calm, relaxed. I left him for one minute and..."

"My', it's your brother, one minute is twice the time he needed!" Lestrade frowns. "Do you know where he is?"

"No, but I presume it won't be long before we find out. My men are outside, Anthea is checking the CCTV --"

Molly anxiously interrupts him "He didn't stop the wedding..."

"It's good then, no?" Mycroft argues looking at the happy couple that was still going down the aisle, stopping every two steps for kisses and congratulations.

Greg was about to gives his opinion on the whole affair when a scream and the bang of pews being shoved around resonate in the church. John's voice was heard over the noise. "YOU BASTARD!!!" Taking his husband by the hand, he rushes to the back of the church where a furious doctor was punching the hell out of a stunned Sherlock.


	9. 4th wedding, part 2

_An hour before..._

"Sherlock, say something." Mycroft was looking at his silent brother anxiously. He was fully dressed, a regular occurrence since he was feeling better, pacing slowly in the living room. "I know it's a shock..."

"I'm okay Mycroft. Don't worry."  He smiles while his eyes remain dead of any emotion. "Of course, John is going to marry someone, he should, he's going to be good at that. Being a husband and... whatever else comes with that."  _Anyway, I never said anything, so, why would he wait for someone like me. And I haven't contacted him, so... But... what if I... No... I mustn't be egotistical._  Eerily, he adds, "it's better, no, not  _better_ , it's good for him this way. He needs to connect with someone, he was kind of always a bit melancholic when he stopped pulling women, I remember..."  _It was so nice of him to stay with me, to be my friend._ His voice was distant when he says again,"yes, of course, I'm happy for him." 

"Sherlock..." his brother tries to find the words without being able to reach for the younger man who was falling into his mind further and further. _He's not realizing that he is the reason why John stopped going out on dates! What a mess!_

"Yes," he mutters to himself "I'm really happy for him. I should write him a letter or something. Isn't what people do My'?"  _I'm forgetting something. What am I forgetting?_

In a soothing voice, the government man replies calmly. "Yes, this is was people usually do. Or a telegram... but... 'Lock, you remember that... he does not know that you are alive."  Placing himself in front of Sherlock's path, he tried to engulf him in his arms, but the detective shrugs dismissively.

"Oh... right." _That's what I was missing. True. John thinks that I am really dead._  "You're right, of course. You have always been better than me in regard to these  _social_   things, Mycroft. A letter for his, no, no, on  **their**  wedding day isn't the best when... John and... what's her name again? Oh yes, Mary do not know that..." He sighs and closes his eyes a second. "Mary. It's a good name. A solid name. No fuss. Traditional. It pairs nicely with John."  _Not like Sherlock. Show-off name. Cold name._ Keeping his dismay and self-destructive thoughts to himself, the detective turns to look outside and forces a last smile on his reluctant lips. "It's a beautiful day, yes, yes... I'm truly happy for him." 

Quietly, Mycroft sent a text to his brother's therapist to come later that day instead of tomorrow. "'Lock, do you want tea?"

"That a good idea, thank you Mycroft."

"Wait for me here, would you, I'm going to be back in a few minutes with tea and your favourites, gingernuts." With a last look upon his now calm brother's face, Mycroft rushes to the kitchen. 

 

When he returned, less than two minutes later, the room was empty. Running to his brother's rooms, he found them empty as well,  _No, no, no... Don't do this to me! To you! To them!_ "SHERLOCK!!" As the house remains silent, he rushes down to the first floor and opens the front door where Simpson was talking with one of the men that belong to his entourage. "Have you seen my brother?"

"No, Sir." both men reply at once.

Simpson, who really like Sherlock, asks quickly "Is there something wrong?"

"He was with me a few minutes ago and now..." his hand instinctively went to his pocket, only to finds out that his phone was missing! With a silent apology to his mother, he swears against his brother once more.  _I love him, but sometimes! God! He's annoying!_

As his boss was looking a bit lost - an unusual occurrence but generally linked to Sherlock's actions - Simpson took charge. "Maxwell, watch the security footage from 15 minutes ago and keep an eye on the door in case it's a ruse." Turning towards Holmes he asks politely, "I'll check the house to be sure, Sir?"

"Yes, yes... I'm going to start at the top floor and go down, you start with the garage and go up." Getting a grip and pushing away his feeling of failure, he asks Maxwell to contact Anthea for a quick survey of the CCTV in the area and heads back to the residential floor. 

 

Sherlock, too lost to care about the stress he was giving his brother, was already a few streets away quickly searching for where the wedding was taking place before jumping in a taxi. He took great care, instinct kicking in, to avoid the CCTV. He knew that Mycroft wasn't stupid and that it was evident that he was going to get to the ceremony, he didn't try to block the trace on his phone, so any minutes that he could have on him were important! Rushing the cab by using all the shortcuts he remembers as well as coercing him to drive a bit above the limit, he was able to get to the church in a record time.

As the cabby stops at a discreet place near the church, Sherlock saw the white sedan where the bride, Mary he recalls, was.  _It's her. It's her that he chose among all the other._ His heart was pounding and his whole body was hurting, the effect of the paracetamol had long worn off since his last dose. Repeating constantly like a mantra  _I am happy for him_ , he finds a little door on the side of the church and hides, waiting for the end of the ceremony to...  _To what? Talk to John? Give him my deepest regards, make excuses for my absence over the last 2 years?_ Stifling a groan, he sits in a place where he was able to see everything. Everything except the altar. The altar where John was waiting for her. For  _her_. His stomach flips as the music starts,  _Mendelssohn. Boring,_ Sherlock attention falls upon the woman who was stealing his John.  _No. He's not mine, so she's not stealing anything!_  Looking at her ardently, he murmurs  _I am happy for him_  as he watches her walk slowly down the aisle.

Dozens of liars echoed in his mind. _Liar, liar, liar..._

 

He stayed in his place until the end of the ceremony, when he saw his brother discreetly walks to join Molly and Greg.  _Busted! Better get out and talk to John._ Without a sound, he sits in a deserted pew near the end of the church. And he sees him. For the first time in 2 years, his tired eyes fall on the beloved face of John Watson. The amount of information was staggering! Each little details filling John's room in his Mind Palace, updating instantly the void caused by his absence.  _He lost weight; he's tired; he's happy; he works in a new clinic; he looks lost; his tremor is back in his right hand; he holds her but doesn't **hold**  her; he's happy, really?; he sheepishly smiles at Stamford.._. He was still computing everything when John stops. Not realizing that the doctor was just there, Sherlock mind was still going on, adding a new range of emotions to his analysis.  _He looks scared; no, hopeful; no, angry; no, furious. Why... why does he look furious. It's his wedding..._ As John gasps, the detective realizes that he was the cause.

Clearing his voice, he extends his hand. "Hello, John. I'm happy for you." looking at the people who were starting to gather around murmuring, he chuckles shyly. "Short version. Not dead?"  Right before the groom rushes to punch him.

 

John was still trying to strangle Sherlock (more for the dramatic effect than for real, thank God!) when Greg, Mycroft, Stamford, and Molly arrive near them. Holmes quickly kneels near his brother, raising a hand to stop John while Greg - showing his badge - asks everyone to get out of the church and go directly to the party venue. "Let them be, nothing to see..."

Letting go of Sherlock,  _why does he stay on the cold floor and why does he stay silent like that!_ , John turns around to look at his so-called friends "Is it just me, or you all don't look surprised that he's alive..." 

Molly, crying and sniffing, mumbles with difficulty "It's not his fault, or my fault, I, he..." 

"Don't worry Molly,"  John's voice was sickly sweet "I know that he's able to twirl you around his little finger when he needs something... but you! YOU!" he points at Greg, "I thought you were my friend!" 

"John..." Mary was trying to calm him "we don't know everything, it's hard to judge the situation right now. Of course, it does not look good for them, but  _maybe_  there's an explanation. A  _valid_  explanation."

Mycroft, if it was possible, suddenly hates the woman even more.  _I must find something against her, nobody has a life that perfect!_ "Miss Morstan, I think it's better to stay out of this right now. This is between John and Sherlock."

"It's Mary Morstan-Watson now, Mister Holmes." Mary replies, her chin high.

John, who was looking at Sherlock with concern,  _why does the git says nothing,_ turns to look at Mycroft. "What's going on? Don't talk to Mary like that, she deserves to know what's going on, like me!"

Mike, who was looking at the scene flabbergasted, places a comforting hand on John's shoulder and murmurs "Please come with me, John, you are too emotional right now... Later you --"

The doctor chuckles "I,  **I**  am too emotional!" He turns on himself to look at the few people around them  _They let me... H_ _e lets me marry someone when I... I..._ "Are you fucking kidding me! Why is anything part of this MY fault!"  _Oh God, I'm so screwed!_ Fighting a fit of nausea, he stops gazing at Sherlock  "I am too furious to talk to you right now. I'll talk to you when are you done being a drama queen - I didn't punch you that hard! -  and you better have a fucking good story!" Not realizing how contradictory he was being, he takes Mary's hand in his and walks out of the church. 

Mike looks at Sherlock, still on the floor, Mycroft, holding his head in his lap, utters a choked "Take care of him... I need to be with John right now... but... Oh my God... he's really... alive." Stumbling on his feet, he rushes behind John and Mary.

 

The church was suddenly silent. The only sound audible was Sherlock light sobs as John leaves with his wife. "I shouldn't... Oh God... I spoiled his day, I want to go home now, My'... not your place. Home."

With a last look at Greg, Mycroft strokes his brother hair slowly. "Yes, 'Lock, you can go back to Baker Street. Not right now, but tomorrow, I swear."

Using the nearest bench as leverage, Sherlock rises and sits. Defeated. "Okay... Can I just be alone for a bit, please." Not wanting to leave him, the men hesitate until the detective murmurs lightly, "i'm in a bloody church, what can happen to me? Go home."

"I'm going to send Simpson to wait for you outside as soon as we are back home..." Mycroft says, holding his brother tight.

Remaining silent for a while, Sherlock finally acknowledges his brother's offer. "Thanks My', I will come to your home tonight, do not worry. I just need time to think... And tomorrow --"

"Tomorrow, Baker Street. Don't worry." Holding Greg's hand, the older Holmes walks thru the door, sending a worried look behind him until the door closed.

 

Time passes, minutes, hours... Sherlock mind was strangely vacant.  _He's angry, I never though he could be... angry. Happy to see me, indifferent maybe, but angry?_ The word 'liar' was still dancing in his head, but he wasn't able to remember what it was about.  _Am I lying to myself? I don't know..._ He chokes as he mouths  _I'm happy for him. I'm happy for him. _I'm happy for him.__

He was deep in his thoughts, trying to find the will to go on, when a mocking tone brought him back.

"Still moping, Mister Holmes? Seriously, from your reputation I was expecting better from you." He opens his eyes at the sound of the light laughter. "It's good in a way, you're making my job much easier!"  Whispering in his ear, Mary's voice murmurs harshly, "tell me, Sherlock, do you have a list?" 


	10. A reception...

Everything falls into place in a blink.   _Liar. Oh... It's not me. Not me lying to myself... but her._ "Are you going to kill me, Mary Watson?" Sherlock asks, with a smirk. 

"No, for a genius, you are very slow. The idea is for you to kill yourself, but if needs must..." Her little gun was pointing at Sherlock's head.

Chuckling, the detective shakes his head. "You know that it's more difficult than you think, forcing someone to commit suicide."

"Yes, maybe. But John won't be here to save you this time." She gloats as Sherlock realizes that she knew that John shot the cabby.  _Okay, so not just a bad fit of misplaced jealousy._ "Yes, Mister Holmes, I know. Don't know what the cops are going to say if they learn that a former soldier has shot someone like that... wasn't even in self-defence... Cold blood." 

"It wasn't like that, it was to protect me and you know it!"

"Maybe Scotland Yard won't be inclined to prosecute, but the press will have an early Christmas!" She grinned maniacally, as she added "not to mention the news of your return... Oh, the amount of money they are going to do on the back of poor John!"

"But why?" The detective asks curiously, trying to buy time.

"Why?"

"Why do you want me dead? I'm not a threat to your life with John, he clearly doesn't want to talk to me again..." 

 

 

_A bit earlier..._

"John!" Greg was walking in the direction of the man he hopes is still his friend. "Can I talk to you a second?"

"I won't talk to you about Sherlock... don't even try." The doctor was clinging to his wife like a lifeline.

"No, no, I won't. But I don't want your conflict with the Holmes brothers to hurt our friendship." He pauses, looking at John with pleading eyes. "Please, for old time sake."

"I'll give you 10 minutes, not a minute more." Sighing, John left Mary after a small kiss and walks in direction of the bar.

"I don't ask for more!" Rushing after John, Greg leads the doctor to a quiet corner, far away from the others.

"What do you want to say?" 

"I needed to talk to you. Sherlock --" The DI places a hand on John's arm to stop him. "Listen to me! He's in danger!"

"What are you talking about?" The shock of seeing his 'dead' friend was stored away for a later time when he will have time to think, but his eyes were tired, "Don't... Greg, you know better than this. Don't fall for their game. Holmeses are... You know. You'll only get destroyed in their path."

"John..."

"No!" He was trying to push tears of rage "NO! You listen! YOU know how I suffered when he... when I thought he was dead. All this for what? Playing whatever game his majesty found amusing at the time?" Looking at his watch, he utters coldly, "you've got 6 minutes left. Choose your words wisely."

"I was furious when I learned about Sherlock being alive, the nerve of the git..."  _Focus, Greg, focus..._

"When did he come back?"

"What?"

"WHEN?" John asks angrily.

"7 weeks --"

Laughing derisively, John repeats "7 bloody weeks! And not once did he... Okay, I've heard enough."

He was leaving but stops when Greg adds slowly, "he's been with us since we came back from our honeymoon..."

"Wow, I know he's not usually inclined towards romance, but he could have given you a break." _I'm nearly sorry for them!_

"It's okay, we're going to go somewhere when everything returns to normal." Greg murmurs automatically. Taking the opportunity of having John's attention back, he continues, "just know that he left for an excellent reason and that it was not as  _pleasant_  as you may think."  

"Of course it wasn't pleasant! I wasn't there to do everything for him!" John laughs, even if concern about Sherlock starts leaking into his indignation at the sadness in Greg's voice. The vision of Sherlock, hurled on the church's floor, not moving, not even trying to protect himself...  _He looks broken._ Brusquely he inquires,"What happened? Why did he stay on the church's floor like that? Is he okay? I am not planning to forgive him but I don't wish for him to be hurt. I didn't punch him that hard. Really. And anyway why did he didn't contact me? 7 weeks Greg!"

"Let's just say that he didn't warm up at the idea of you seeing him not at his best. He was ashamed I think, even if it's ludicrous after all the..." he stops as his phone vibrates. It was a message from Mycroft. "John... come with me now. Please."

"Where?" He turns around looking for Mary, but he wasn't able to find her.  _She's probably with her friends... I hope she's okay, she's been acting oddly since that business with Sherlock._

"Outside."

"But Mary is --" John searches again for his wife.  _Where is she?_

"Mary left the hall the minute I took you aside." As the doctor frowns, he repeats, "come with me. Please."

 

 

 

They left the hall quietly, while the party was in full swing, the guests eating hors-d'oeuvre and drinking wine.  Mycroft was the first person John saw when he steps outside. "You! Get out of my sight!"

"Doctor Watson, I am sorry for the part I had in my brother's ... disappearance... but... for now I just want to say that I am so, so sorry."

"It must be worse than I thought if even you are asking forgiveness... twice." John jokes darkly. He was on the verge of turning on his heel to leave them to their secrets when Simpson runs towards them.

"Sir! She's inside and made contact with your brother!"

"What's her plan?"

"I don't know..." the man replies apologetically. "She asked him if he had a list. A list of what I don't know."

Understanding immediately, Greg swears under his breath. "Oh my God, we must act quickly! John come with us!" He meets Mycroft's stunned gaze as they run off in the direction of where Mary is.

John, follows close behind still confused as ever. "What are you talking about... where's Mary? I won't go anywhere until someone explains what's going on!" 

Mycroft, stressed by the risk to his brother, wasn't in the mood to sugarcoat anything. "Your wife is a former, and it seems still, professional assassin; she used to work with Moriarty, was probably one of the snipers at the pool; she was with you at first to be sure that Sherlock was dead, and now she's planning to end the job. Any more questions?"

"Mycroft!" Greg protests at the blunt tone. "You can't --"

"Sherlock is in danger and we haven't saved him from a Serbian chamber of torture to have him killed in a church in Chiswick!" His eyes were hard but Greg was able to read the fear in them. His voice breaks."I won't let that happen, you understand, not because I didn't consider making a thorough check on his _maybe-still-friend's_ wife." He shakes his head, troubled "How could I've been so careless! It took me less than 2 hours to uncover enough for --!" 

"Love..." Greg lays a gentle hand on his shoulder and quiets his voice. "We were all worried about Sherlock, we never thought that... Anyway, we are going in right now and get him out of that situation." He motions to Simpson to come nearer. "We are going inside, by a side-door, are you ready?" The chauffeur/body-guard nods, readying his gun. "John, are you okay." Stunned, but most of all afraid for Sherlock, John nods silently. "My', stay behind me. Simpson leads the way."

 

Entering by the same little door Sherlock used not so long ago, they stay hidden and advance slowly until they hear Sherlock's voice.

"Why do you want me dead? I'm not a threat for your life with John, he clearly doesn't want to talk to me anymore -"

"You really think it's for John? Oh my God, you're too cute."

"If not, why..." His worry for John was starting to clear his mind.  _Oh... yes. Of course._  "Moriarty. You are the last line of defence. Or, as the man is dead, you're the man... executor, the heir to his vengeance against me."

 

"I don't like loose ends," the hint of pride for a job well done was lacing her voice. "I admit I was starting to think that the rumours about you being alive were only that, rumours, but I had to be sure." 

"And you knew that..."

"That, one way or in other, you'd find a way to go back to John Watson." Her laughter echoes in the deserted church shaking John to the core, "You already died once to keep him safe. Now you must die to preserve his reputation and his liberty. Think about it, you can be a hero and die tragically, romantically, even in this church or the fact that John killed that cabby after only knowing you for one day is going public."

"John is no damsel in distress," Sherlock rises slowly, keeping his hands still on his side. "He will be able to survive a bit of bad publicity."

"Maybe, but you didn't see him after your death, it was really pathetic. Poor man." Keeping her gun fixed toward Sherlock, her second hand was now holding a bottle of pills. "The press was after him 24/7... it was madness."

"So... If I commit suicide, you are going to keep that story out of the press and... what? Carry on with the charade of domestic bliss?"

"It's the perfect disguise, I may even go back to work now that my mission against you is over." 

Smiling sweetly, Sherlock shakes his head. "But there is something you don't know, Miss Morstan."

"Mary Watson, please, I've suffered enough for it." She waits for a few seconds and succumbs to curiosity. "Don't try to be clever, what did I miss?"

"That John, my brother and DI Lestrade are just behind you." He smiles mockingly. "I think I still know John Watson enough to know that even though he's a man of his word, you won't stay married to him for long now." In his mind it was a blatant lie! John choose her after all... But he couldn't resist to the little jab.

Everything becomes a blur as Mary - in despair - shoots Sherlock while Simpson and Greg jump her.  John rushes to Sherlock's side and was quick enough to catch him before he fell to the floor. His hands full of blood, he screams at a paralyzed Mycroft "Call 999! or something better if you can!"

For the first time in years, he starts praying, holding the body of the man he loved for so long. All doubt melting away as he presses on the wound.  _Don't die on me, you bastard, not again!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know... I'm physically unable to write a nice Mary...
> 
> Only one chapter to go, for real! The end will follow soon :-)


	11. Ever after...

John was finally alone. 

In the last days, their flat add been raided by secret services thoroughly before he was allowed to go back to take his things - he didn't want to stay at the place anymore - and he went through many hours of questioning, psychological evaluations and signed an overwhelming amount of forms. Greg, still a good friend and privy to most of the story, stayed with him all that time but remained silent every time John asked questions about Sherlock's condition. 

After the third laconic "He's okay." John simply stopped asking.

And now he found himself on a temporary leave from work with full salary and benefits without an official return date, thanks to Mycroft probably.  _He doesn't know me that well! I need to work or I am going to go crazy!_  Before realizing that for his co-workers, he was supposed to be in honeymoon anyway.  _And what a honeymoon it was..._  But at least, a few days later John was finally able to breathe again. As when you find a way out a storm or that your head isn't under the water anymore.  That morning, the fifth after his deceiving wife fired on his best friend, was the first where nothing was planned. He was finally alone after the weeks of madness before the wedding, the ceremony, and events at the church, and what followed. A whole day without being picked up by a black car, without trying to figure out if Mary's demeanour was suspect from the beginning or not, or trying to find why he never realized that the sweet but bossy nurse was an international gun for hire! 

 

Alone in Mike's guestroom, still in bed, he was thinking about the questions they asked him.  _When did I talk to her the first time? Was it Mary - or whatever her name is- or me who talked first? Did I have any doubt that she wasn't what she was pretending to be?_ All of his thoughts turning around the same hurtful spot:  _Is it my fault that she was able to attack Sherlock? And if it's true that he 'killed' himself to protect me... then that's my fault if... Whatever happened to him is also on me._ He didn't know clearly what was Sherlock's life was like when he was away, but he wasn't an idiot!   _I don't know that much, but I do know that Mycroft and Greg had to retrieve him from Serbia, that after 7 weeks of care he was still suffering, that he wasn't feeling confident enough to see me._  He was pondering what he should do next when someone knocks on the door. Pasting a polite smile on his lips, he shouts a light, "come in!"

It was Mike. Reliable, friendly, down to earth Mike. "Hey mate, how are you this morning?" He chuckles, pointing toward the corridor. "The kids and Sophie are making American pancakes... God knows what it is. The kitchen is a mess so I decided it was a perfect time to look on you."

Shaking his head, John protests with a smirk "No, no, I don't want you to miss some good family time! Doing dishes is an important role in the familial dynamic."

"Oie! You're supposed to be my friend first and foremost, and after that Sophie's, and lastly, the kiddos!" Mike was smiling more openly, happy that John was able to joke a little and not moping alone.  _Even if it's his right to do so!_

"You're lucky, you know, you are perfect together..." After a sad sigh, he murmurs, "I don't think it's going to happen to me you know."

"You don't think you will meet your true soulmate?" Mike asks softly.

"Yeah... and just finding happiness if I am honest."

"Hey, don't say things like that..." The man sits at the end of the bed, patting John's feet. "At least you know where your man is! You just have to patch things up and you're good to go!" Not realizing his friend's look of panic at being called on something he thoughts was his secret "... and you know we tried so hard that I don't think that we are going to be really happy if you muck up the chance that you have to start over."

"What... what are you saying..."  _Am I so transparent?_

"When I think that all the effort we put to get both of you at our wedding!" He chuckles at the memories. "You were 24 hours away from being deployed, Sherlock doesn't like anything that can be called remotely social..." 

"You set us up!" John was gobsmacked. "MIKE! How dare you!"

With innocent eyes, the family man chuckles. "It went... well... if I remember what the pub owner told me when I came to check that everything went okay with our guests before leaving for our honeymoon." He winks and at Mike satisfaction, John was turning a nice shade of pink. "And then..."

"Oh my God!" The doctor shouts, finally putting the pieces together. "Baker Street!" 

"Yes," Mike replies smugly. "One of my finest hours."

Laughing softly at his friend, the wall of pretence around John's heart crumbled, turning his voice in a soft murmur. "I love him so much, Mike... I can't believe he's still alive." 

"It's a miracle, you can let that man get away now, you realize?" Stamford's soft confident smile was the last push John needs.

  

 

Sherlock was in the kitchen, drinking tea while looking at the back garden. His mind was quiet, for the first time since the ordeal at the church... The light background noise of Mycroft's housekeeper - who was doing her weekly thorough clean-up, agreeably reminds him of home.  _And I was supposed to go back to Baker Street, I should have stayed here instead of going to the church... I'm always doing a mess of everything._ He missed Ms. Hudson, his chair, the way his violin echoes in the living room, the noises from the street. He missed John most of all but wasn't able to even think about him right now.  _It's this place, it's driving me crazy! Everything is too silent! If you don't put on music, you hear nothing!_ He realized, in the last months, that it wasn't as tranquil as before now that it was Greg's home as well if he was honest.  I  _don't understand how Mycroft was able to live in this mausoleum before!_  Now, when the DI was present in the house, his voice resonates everywhere, warming the cold rooms by his presence. Beer and junk food find a place in the fridge.   _This cold place is now_ _truly_ _a home, how sentimental of me!_ More surprisingly, Mycroft was often seen without his coat and vest, his shirt sleeves carefully rolled.  _Rumour has_ _it that a few pairs of jeans had found a way in his closet!_  Chuckling silently at the idea of his brother in blue jeans, Sherlock was nonetheless happy for him.  _They look really good together, I never thought that My' could be comfortable enough to open up and let someone in... but it worked so well for them._ He smiles.  _Maybe one day I'm going to be an uncle, I think I would love that._ _  
_

He was lost again in his thought, counting the number of flowers he was able to see through the window panes first then at establishes how many shades of pink were present - _is that rose lilac or pink?_  - when someone clearing his throat brought him back. "Oh... Lestrade. Do you need something?"

Greg smiles and sits at the table. "No, not really..." Taking off the tea cosy, he replenished Sherlock's cup and serves himself "it's just that I was wondering. --"

"What? Do you have a case?" The detective's eagerness was false, nicely done but definitely fake.

"No, not a case."  _Except for the case of the pining Doctor and the oblivious Detective!_  "How are you this morning? Really?"

Taken aback, Sherlock mumbles, " I'm better, I must be careful when doing certain movement but otherwise it's not as bad as it could have been, it was a spectacular shot, a lot of blood and all, but as you know she missed everything important because you pushed her. Because you saved me. Again." After a second, misunderstanding Greg's comment, he rises carefully. "I'm going to pack my things, I've already taken advantage of your hospitality --"

Shaking his head at his brother-in-law, Greg interrupts, "Sherlock, it's not --"

Clearly stressed, the detective wasn't able to listen. "... and you skipped your honeymoon, you are still newlyweds and --"

"Sherlock, don't say --" 

"... I know that you are eager to be alone with my brother." He shudders theatrically. "So, I'm going to my room to pack right --"  _To be alone. Because I will obviously die alone. Shit, where did that come from?_

"Shut up, Sherlock. And sit for God grace!" Finally getting it, the git sits back in his chair.

"Why do you ask then?" He asks, really clueless about why someone would care, "If you don't want me out of your hair."

"I was asking because I wanted to know if you were ready for a talk about... John. And as you just demonstrated, you are more than enough in shape for a discussion even if you look unable to have a serious one!"

Not arguing about the statement, Sherlock asks worryingly "Is something wrong with John? Or with Ma -- " he choked on the name. "... Or with that woman?"

"No, nothing wrong and the woman we known as Mary Morstan is still in custody somewhere..." The idea of a 'secret prison' was unbelievable to the policeman and he didn't like the calm tone Mycroft used sometimes when he replies 'you don't really want to know, love,' to some of Greg's questions.

Carefully lifting his cup to his lips, Sherlock asks again "Okay, so... What about him? Except for the fact that he's probably devastated, he loves her and..."  _He's probably still in love with her, he's an ex-soldier after all, always liked action_. "Do you think Mycroft can give her a new identity? A better one? Maybe she... maybe they could start anew away from London." 

Looking at Sherlock's shaking hands, Greg was astonished at how badly the great detective was at reading things related to his personal life. "Don't be mad, he does not want to see her again, he doesn't live in their house anymore, he's at Stamford's."

Frowning, the younger man looks at Lestrade, completely clueless. "But... I don't understand. He married her, he loved her. John is loyal, he won't push the woman of his life for something from her past. Of course, working as a  mercenary is less honourable than being a soldier but..." 

"She never been the woman of his life, be realistic, Sherlock. She couldn't."

Nonplussed at the reason why John, having finally been able to keep a woman around him because he wasn't there to spoil everything wouldn't fight to keep her, the detective utters sadly. "Why?"

"Because even dead you were the man of his life and dreams... Now that you are back..."

Agitated, Sherlock was fidgeting with his spoon and avoiding Greg's eyes, he shakes his head slowly. "Don't say that... He... he chose her." His voice was cold, devoid of any apparent emotion. "Leave me alone... please."

"Sherlock! Don't be stupid, he loves you, he mourned you like a lover..."

But the emotions were too much, and the young man wasn't listening anymore. "Please ask Simpson to come to my room in 30 minutes if he can, I'm going to need help to bring my things to the car. If he's not around, it's okay... I'll call a cab, I don't mind." To Greg's dismay, he rises for good and walks out of the kitchen. 

 

 

Less than one hour later, Sherlock was at the back of Mycroft's car, the trunk full of the various things he had with him during his sojourn to his house. He was looking outside, trying to predict the streets that Simpson was going to take when he realizes that the route they were taking wasn't making any sense. "Where are we going?"

"To Doctor Stamford's house, Sir, Mr. Lestrade told me that you are going to pick up Doctor Watson on your way home." Ready for the argument - Greg explained the situation succinctly - the man remains silent to let the news sink in.  _1, 2, 3..._  "It's a crazy thing, that ex-wife of his don't you think? I've been with him a lot over the last days, carrying his things out of the home, bringing him in for interrogation at MI6... Really shitty situation."

"MI6, why?" Sherlock asks, not happy about the stress that all this brought to John. "He's not the culprit here!"

"No, certainly not! Especially when he didn't really love the woman if yo want my opinion." He let go a small humpf, "just a rebound, when the loneliness is unbearable... hard to find something else when you've lost the real thing."

Speechless, worrying about John, Sherlock didn't ask Simpson to change his route. Humming softly, the wise man keeps driving in direction of the Stamford house in Fulham.  _Too bad it's raining, but it's okay... it's romantic._

 

 

"Here we go, Sir!"

Sherlock's heart somersaults when he realises that he was in front of a nicely restored Victorian middle-class home.  _Oh... is it where Stamford lives? I've never been here before._

"Better go knock on the door, Sir, maybe he's going to need help with something. Or I can go if --

"No, no... I'm going." Getting out of the car, the detective never realized that the rain was pouring, effectively destroying the usual order of his curls or the neatness of his appearance. Walking slowly, he stops in front of the door, looking at the door knocker without being able to touch it. The image of the Baker Street knocker, that he constantly pushed crooked because John liked it that way, springs to his mind.  _Did I just hear Simpson scream 'Do it man!'?_ He was about to turns to check when the door opens to an angry John Watson.

"Fuck!  What the Hell are you doing here, you told me that --" his rant stops instantly when he realises that Sherlock was at the door, not Simpson. "Sherlock... Is that you, really you?"

"Yes, yes, I think it's me...  only if you want it to be, of course."  _God, can I be more pathetic!_

Opening the door wide, John motions toward the inside of the house. "It's raining, come in..."

"Oh, rain? Yes. Maybe. But it's okay, I'm fine." 

"But it's not good for... for your wound... wounds."

"I'm fine, it was spectacularly superficial." He shrugs his shoulder, not wanting to elaborate on the extent of his injuries  _previous_  to the church episode.  "Anyway, now that I know that it's raining, I don't think I can't get any wetter."

Closing the door behind him, John steps outside closer to Sherlock. "I'm coming out then," waving a hand at Sherlock's concern, he repeats, "are you sure you are well enough to be outside like this?"

"That's my line, John, you're the one who... anyway, I wasn't supposed to come here, but as I am... I just need to know that you are not busy drinking yourself into oblivion or something like that. But, you are obviously doing fine." John's heartbeats accelerate as his friend leans over him. "Eating waffles... no American pancakes."

"Did you just sniff me?" John chuckles, _Oh my God, I have missed him too much!_

"Yes, sorry... it wasn't a really polite thing to do." He was dancing from feet to feet, distracted by the squishing of his delicate Italian shoes. _I wonder how long it's going to take for them to be dry again? At least it's not quite as bad as the time I had_ _fallen in the Thames..._

"Sherlock, are you with me?" John asks, with a little smile.     

"Yes... sorry. I... I not good with these things and..." He pauses, looking away, before stuttering out, "it's my fault, I shouldn't have come to the church. I'm so sorry that I ruined your wedding day." He turns and attempts to make a beeline for the car when John's hand on his shoulder stops him.

"No! Don't say that, that woman used me to get to you, tried to kill you... How could you turn this into something that's your fault!"

Keeping his back toward John, he murmurs, defeated. "If it wasn't for me, you would probably have a wife and kids by now! I destroyed everything, I cause you pain... Don't you see it?"

"You cause me pain because I love you so much! The pain of not being able to get what I want because you didn't feel or do things like that, then suffering from losing any chance to ever get it because you died in front of me! Letting go of the hope for a miracle and settling for second best only to realize that you were still alive! That! That's what pain is!" With a slight pressure, he forces Sherlock around.

"You do see that the common denominator in all this is ME!"

"Yes! YOU, the man I've been in love with for years!"

Stunned, Sherlock's eyes flickered a bit before he utters.  _It can't be._ "But... but I'm not good at all... this stuff."

"And you think that I'm any good at it! I'd been on date over date in that first year, trying to get over you without any success! And I caused you so much pain as well! You killed yourself in order to save me - yeah, I heard when she told you and we are sooo talking about this later - and my wannabe ex-wife tried to kill you. I think we are even. And anyway, you know what the most important? Is that we are good for each other."

"Ex-wife..."

"Another case of selective listening, love. Yes, of course, ex-wife or more specifically never-been-wife. Being married under a false identity is somehow frowned upon." Holding Sherlock's hands in his, he smiles the most luminous grin. "And you know what? I realize something."

Overwhelmed by the events, Sherlock was only able to ask a blunt, "what..." 

"I don't think I'm the marrying kind anyway."

"Oh..."

"Marriage and I were very clearly not meant for one another."

"Oh... that's... sad." Sherlock was clearly dumbfounded.

"No, not really." John's laugh. "Why do you say that, sad?"

Letting go of his fear, the brunet smiles shyly. "Yes, because I sorted out something of my own when you were at the altar."

His voice altered by emotions, it was the doctor turn to murmur, "what?"

"I know that I will give anything to be able to go back in time and be with you in front of the crowd..."  Tears were flowing freely, hidden by the rain. "Because when you are absolutely in love with someone --"

"yes?"

"You want to spend the rest of your life with him."

"You know what, love?" Not realizing the second usage of the term of endearment, Sherlock cocks his head in curiosity, a small burst of hope flutters in his heart. "I had a realization of my own when I was at the altar... That the person that was with me wasn't the love of my life."

"John... I..."

"It's the man in front of me right now in the rain..." He tilts his head back, letting the rain washing away his doubts, his pain, his errors...  

"Is it still raining?" letting go John's hand a second, he pushes his wet locks away from his eyes with a sweet smile. "John... I've loved you since the first second my eyes fell on you."

"You are here for real, you are not going anywhere..." The doctor was now holding Sherlock tightly in his arms, not wanting to let him go. "Say that you are staying with me."

"I might drown, but it's okay if you're here to bringing me back to life." The timid smile and the heat in Sherlock's eyes were the only confirmations that John needs before pulling the tall man down for a kiss. 

It was the best kiss that they ever exchanged, ten times better than the sum of all the kisses they exchanged that night, in that little pub. So long ago... The sweet scent of Sherlock's hair product, the taste of his favourite tea that was surrounding the heat of his mouth. John groans as he pulls the detective even closer, the shivering in his limbs clearly not caused by the still pouring rain. Finally... the dancing of their tongues, the little noise Sherlock was making as he ravages his mouth, his neck... licking the saltiness of tears from under his beautiful eyes. 

Stuttering, Sherlock ghosts his lips over John's ear, "I think we should go back home..." Pressing his body upon his lover, the drenched clothes hiding very little, he smirks smugly at John's response that comes in the form of a deep moan. "So, it's a yes..." he chuckles, sending a pool of warmth all over John's body despite the cold rain. "But let me ask one thing." Peppering kisses all over his beloved's perfect face and blond hair, he continues, "after we are dry, after we spent a lot of time taking back the time we lost, do you think your wish to 'not being a husband'..." stopping John's exclamation with an heated kiss he smiles, "can be fulfilled by staying with me? And the not being married to me is something that you can do for the rest of your life?"

Contrary to the feelings he felt last week, when he last uttered the two tiny words,  John didn't feel a hint of a doubt when he replied, "I do."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwwww SweetiePies both of them.
> 
> If you are still there, leave me a little note so I know that I haven't lost you somewhere :-) 
> 
> The next story in this series is Sleepless at Seatle, I have also You've Got Mail on the back burner... Let me know if you have any favourite rom-com!
> 
> p.s. Good Thanksgiving to the American readers!
> 
> p.p.s. you may have received 2 notifications for this chapter, sorry!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think so far and if you have any ideas about rom-com that you would like to have 'Sherlocked'


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